


Lost in Time

by gammadolphin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e04 The End, Episode: s05e13 The Song Remains the Same, Family, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Future Castiel, Future Dean, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Castiel, Romance, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Time Travel, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 104,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gammadolphin/pseuds/gammadolphin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is alone after the events of The Song Remains the Same, left to make his own way back to the present from 1978. But the angel is playing wounded, and his power over time is not as precise as it once was. It is all he can do to cling to the one thread that will keep him from getting lost: Dean Winchester's timeline. He just ends up seeing more of it than he ever expected to, and it affects him in ways he never thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this story from tumblr user thespywhospies, who made an awesome gifset series about Cas having trouble finding his way home from 1978. This story will follow those, but I've also expanded it considerably.

Castiel’s whole body ached as he slowly regained his senses. He had been wounded in battle before, had even been killed once, but he did not remember ever experiencing this utter lack of awareness. He believed it was what humans called ‘unconsciousness’. He did not find it to be an enjoyable sensation.

The angel sat up with a groan and looked around, brow wrinkling in confusion as he took in his surroundings. The room he was in was reminiscent of the motel rooms that Castiel had seen the Winchesters stay in, but something about it seemed off. He searched his hazy mind for a memory of how he had gotten to this strange room, but there was nothing. The last thing he remembered was fighting his way through the raging torrent of time, struggling to protect the oblivious Winchesters from being burned away or torn from him by the raw power. After that, there was only the bright flood of sunlight, and the Winchesters’ hazy, concerned faces, then simply blackness.

The angel’s journey through time must have cost him. Time travel was difficult enough when he had the might of heaven behind him, but alone Castiel had been forced to exhaust the power of his grace to make the trip. He had very nearly lost himself in the process. He had deemed it worth the risk however, to save the Winchesters and their parents. The angel did not know exactly when the two humans had become so important to him, but somehow it had happened, and he had realized that he was willing to give everything for them. He was still not convinced that it was a good thing. It made him more vulnerable, but when he gazed upon the beauty of Dean’s soul, or sat quietly with Sam going over old books or simply watching humanity, he could not bring himself to mind.

But now the Winchesters were gone, and Castiel was alone. He knew instinctively that he was still in the past, but he did not know what had happened to his friends. The angel took a moment to focus more carefully on himself, taking stock of his condition and his powers. He was in a considerable amount of discomfort, and he could feel how weak the power of his grace had become.

He gingerly stretched out his wings one at a time, examining them closely. Though they were sore, and every single feather was ruffled and bent at odd angles, they seemed to be in working condition. Castiel was about to test them out, but was stopped by the sight of a note hastily scrawled on hotel stationary and left on the bedside table.

_Hey Cas,_

_If you’re reading this, you woke up before Sam and I could come back for you. Hope you’re alright – you looked like crap. We’re headed out to our parents’ house, so if you’re in good enough shape, come find us and lend us a hand. If you can’t, just stay put, and we’ll come back for you; as long as we don’t, you know, die._

_\- Dean_

A smile tugged at the corner of Castiel’s mouth. The note was very much in Dean’s style: blunt, while still managing to convey concern. The angel glanced at the old clock beside the bed, comparing the date on it to the one that Dean had written down in the corner of the note. Worry ripped through him when he realized that three days had passed. It should not have taken the Winchesters that long to stop Anna. Unless they had failed, and failure meant…

No. Conjecture served no purpose. Castiel closed his eyes and extended his senses, hoping to detect the familiar sparks of Sam and Dean’s souls. The worry flared up into chilling fear when he could find no sign of them. Even in his weakened state, Castiel should have been able to sense the Winchesters’ existence, even if the Enochian symbols on their ribs prevented him from locating their exact position. But there was nothing.

Except…Castiel frowned, deepening his focus. There, at the very edge of his awareness, was the faintest hint of Dean. It would have been undetectable if it had not been coming from so close to the angel’s current location. The signal should not have been that weak, and another stab of fear twisted in Castiel’s stomach. That weakness could mean that Dean was close to death, in which case, he would need immediate assistance.

The angel took a deep, centering breath, and shook out his wings cautiously. He made the short flight to the source of Dean’s essence, swaying unsteadily as he landed on the porch of a neat little house. He heard a sharp gasp and turned to face a young woman, staring at him cautiously with a gardening trowel raised defensively. Castiel, recognizing Mary Winchester, raised his hands in the customary human gesture of peace and surrender. It did not seem to placate her though.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked.

“I’m Castiel,” the angel told her distractedly. “I’m looking for my friends, Sam and Dean. Have you seen them? They intended to come looking for you.”

He glanced around the small yard, looking for some sign of the boys. He saw nothing but a neatly kept lawn and bright flowerbeds. No gravely wounded Dean, no bloodthirsty enemies, just a wounded angel and a frightened woman. But then the truth dawned on him, and he returned his focus to Mary.

“You’re pregnant,” he told her wonderingly. That was why he could sense Dean’s soul; it was residing inside of Mary. Now that he was so close, the angel could feel the newness of it, the purity that had yet to be darkened by the bleak turmoil of the world.

“What the hell are you?” Mary asked as she backed away, one arm curling protectively over her abdomen.

Despite what Dean had tried to teach him about deceit, Castiel was still not good at coming up with acceptable lies, especially on such short notice. Besides that, Mary had been a hunter, and was therefore familiar with the supernatural.

“I’m an angel of the Lord,” he told her gently, echoing some of his first words to Dean. His mother had a reaction similar to that of her son.

“Right,” she scoffed, her eyes hard. “And I’m the queen of England.”

“I believe that position is currently occupied by someone else,” Castiel told her. He remembered Elizabeth’s coronation well. He had not been tasked with attending, but he had wanted to see the beginning of what he knew would be a long and successful rule. But when Mary’s disbelief became even more pronounced on her features, Castiel realized that she had been using sarcasm. He sighed. He did not have the power to waste on a display of his wings like the one that he had given to Dean in their first encounter.

“Your name is Mary Campbell Winchester,” he began, hoping to convince her with the facts instead. “You married John Henry Winchester over four years ago, after you made a deal for his life with the yellow-eyed demon Azazel, who killed both of your parents. You had been praying for heaven’s guidance for years before that however, because you did not desire the hunting life that your parents raised you in.”

Castiel paused thoughtfully.

“You deserved a better answer,” he said, more to himself than to her. “But instead you were set upon by the forces of hell. Had we given you the assistance that you asked for, much suffering could have been avoided. And for that, I am sorry.”

Mary stared at him for a long moment, before she slowly relaxed and lowered the trowel.

“An angel?” she repeated softly, awe creeping into her face. She took a hesitant step forward, and in that moment she reminded Castiel powerfully of Sam, and his childish wonder at his first encounter with angels. This time though, Castiel did not feel worthy of the amazement. He felt like a poor excuse for an angel, and an even poorer excuse for a friend to this woman’s sons. But this was not the time to go into that.

“Yes. Mary, I’m looking for two men, Sam and Dean,” he said, returning to his mission. “I need to know if you have seen them.”

Still staring at him, Mary shook her head mutely for a moment before finding her voice.

“N-no. I’ve mostly been here for the last few days. I’ve only seen my neighbors.”

But something flickered in her eyes, and Castiel looked at her more closely, examining her soul. Her mind bore the marks of angelic interference.

“Would you mind if I searched your memories?” he asked. “I suspect that you know more than you realize.”

Wariness closed off Mary’s expression, and Castiel hastened to reassure her.

“It won’t hurt,” he said. “It will not harm you in any way; I just need to know what you’ve seen.”

The young woman relaxed slightly, but still looked cautious.

“Will it hurt the baby?” she asked, looking down at the stomach that did not yet show the presence of the child within.

“No,” said Castiel gently, admiring her protectiveness of Dean. She would have made a very good mother, had she been allowed the proper chance. “It will have no effect on your son.”

Mary gasped and stared at the angel.

“It’s a boy?” she whispered, her eyes glistening. Castiel wondered if he had made an error. Perhaps the Winchesters had wanted for their child’s gender to remain a surprise. But Mary did not seem upset.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to have a son,” Mary said quietly, her voice full of tender wonder.

“Your son will be a great man,” Castiel told her. The words did not properly convey all that Dean would grow to be, but it was all that he could give to Mary.

“How do you know that?”

Castiel merely smiled gently at Mary, slowly extending two fingers towards her forehead.

“May I?” he asked, halting before he touched her. She nodded slowly, eyes still shining.

Castiel moved his fingers the last few inches, and closed his eyes as he immersed himself in Mary’s mind. He ignored the inane surface memories, focusing instead on the iridescent mass that had been tucked away into the back corner of Mary’s consciousness. Castiel recognized the sign of hidden memories, and knew that he had been right to look closer. He delved cautiously into the recollections, careful not to shake them loose into Mary’s general awareness. Whatever Castiel was about to see, it had been hidden for a reason, and it was probably for the best that Mary continued to forget. She deserved to spend her few remaining years in peace.

Suddenly, Castiel was through the sticky angelic barrier, and he found the memories of Sam and Dean that he had been looking for. The boys had shown up at the Winchester household, much to their mother’s dismay. Mary still blamed Dean for what had happened to her parents, and she had not wanted John to be exposed to the supernatural world on which she had firmly turned her back. But it had soon become apparent that Sam and Dean were there to help. When Anna had lured John out of the house, they had gone to protect him, and the four Winchesters had fled to an old Campbell safehouse, where Dean had revealed his and Sam’s identities to their mother.

Castiel was stunned by the force of the grief that Mary had felt upon hearing Dean’s words. The pain was not because she only had a few years left to live, but because of what happened to her family after her death. She had married John because she had wanted a life completely opposite of the one in which she had grown up. To find out that her children would be forced to join the life she despised was utterly devastating.

And then the angels had come. Anna had enlisted the help of Uriel, still alive in this time. They had attacked the Winchesters. Castiel flinched in horror as he watched his sister plunge a pipe into Sam’s stomach in what was clearly a fatal blow. But before he or Mary had any time to feel anything but shock, Michael had arrived, wearing John Winchester’s skin. Michael smote Anna and banished Uriel before putting Mary to sleep, and Castiel snapped out of the memory, breathing hard.

“Are you alright?” asked Mary in concern.

Castiel barely registered her words over the storm in his mind. _I’ve lost them,_ he thought, the words pounding through his brain, tearing through his heart. _I’ve lost them. I’ve lost them. I’ve lost them._

Sam’s death played over and over in Castiel’s flawless memory, pain tearing through him at the sight of blood pouring from his friend’s mouth as that familiar face went pale and slack. But then _Michael_ , heaven’s most powerful archangel, had gotten involved, and that meant another devastating loss for Castiel. Dean was strong, incredibly so, but Michael was in another class entirely. Castiel did not dare to hope that Dean could have resisted him, especially with Sam dead.

The thought of Dean, locked screaming in a suffocating cage inside his mind, his body controlled by a cold, cruel, mechanical archangel sickened Castiel. And Sam’s fate could not be better. Either he was dead, most likely in hell after all that he had done, or he had been resurrected and handed over to Lucifer and was in the same torment as his brother. As the magnitude of what he had lost began to sink in, the pain of his grief stunned Castiel. His breath began to come in sharp gasps as he fought to make sense of the fact that the two people he cared about most were gone, that he had failed them, had let them fall to a fate worse than death.

But maybe…maybe there was a chance that they were alright. Maybe Michael had recognized that the time was not yet right for the Battle of Armageddon. Maybe he had healed Sam, and returned him and Dean to the present, so that they could play their roles there. It was a long shot, Castiel knew, but he would take anything that allowed him to believe that the Winchesters were alive.

He needed to get back to the present, needed to make sure that Sam and Dean were truly safe. Even if Michael had returned them to their proper time, they were still in danger, still needed their guardian angel. But their mother, oblivious to her sons’ peril, was staring at Castiel in concern, waiting for him to speak.

“Yes,” Castiel answered finally. “Thank you for your assistance, Mary.”

He prepared to take flight, hoping that he was strong enough to make it all the way back to 2010, and strong enough to deal with what he found there.

“Wait!” cried Mary, clearly sensing that he was about to leave. “You don’t look well. Isn’t there anything else I can do to help you?”

Castiel was extremely touched that she would put aside her abhorrence for the supernatural to care for the broken angel that had shown up at her door. He should not have been surprised though. Sam and Dean had to have gotten their propensity to give all that they had from somewhere.

“Trust me, Mary; you have already given me more than you know,” said Castiel with a tiny, sad smile. He gazed at her for a moment, realizing that there was one last, small thing that he could give to her. “I will watch over your son.”

And with one last look at the incredible woman, Castiel threw himself back into the churning tide of time, praying for the strength to make it back to the Winchesters. He focused on the spark of Dean’s soul, following its thread forward as he was buffeted about by the current. Castiel was astonished by how quickly the flight drained his grace. He lost track of where he was, when he was, simply clinging tightly to Dean’s timeline. It was not long before Castiel’s wings could take him no further, and he was forced to stop, hoping that he had landed in the right year.

The angel looked around after his feet made contact with grassy earth. He seemed to be in an empty field behind a somber brick building. He sighed in frustration, then gasped in surprised as his knees buckled under him. He was unaccustomed to this kind of weakness. He felt a strange pressure in his chest, and his vessel convulsed weakly, emitting a spray of blood from his mouth. Castiel frowned, sure that this could not be a good sign.

“Are you okay, mister?” asked a young voice from behind Castiel.

The angel realized just how weak his senses had gotten. No human should have been able to surprise him like that. He turned his head, startled to find himself staring at a very familiar face. Though it was not so much the face that was familiar, but the soul that shone through it, lighter and less damaged than Castiel remembered, but still instantly recognizable.

“Dean?” he asked, struggling to his feet and staring down at the young boy in front of him. “You’re…” safe, innocent, unblemished, happier, _whole_ “small.”

Dean instantly grew wary, pulling a knife from his jacket pocket and assuming a defensive stance.

“What are you?” he asked, the bravado almost masking the fear in his voice. “How do you know my name?”

Castiel did not like to see Dean so afraid, so mistrustful of him. He backed away unsteadily, unsure of how to convince this cautious young boy that he was not a threat. Apparently though, his appearance was pitiful enough that he did not have to do anything. As Dean watched the crippled angel stagger weakly away from him, his face began to soften. He stepped forward, and as Castiel began to dissolve into another fit of what he realized were coughs, he felt a small warm hand on his shoulder. Dean kneeled next him as he sank to the ground again.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean asked. “You look like crap.”

Castiel could not help but smile at that, because those were the same words that a much older Dean had left him in that note.

“I feel like crap,” the angel told Dean ruefully. “But I’ll recover.”

Sure enough, his breathing soon eased and his wings stopped feeling like they were about to fall off. He began to rise, anxious to get back, but Dean tugged firmly on his coat, holding him in place.

“Slow down, buddy,” the boy said. “I don’t know much about sick people, but I do know that it’s not a good idea to get up and walk around right after you’ve been coughing up a lung.”

“Don’t worry,” said Castiel, trying to reassure him. “It was only blood that I was expelling; both of my lungs remain intact.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s an expression, dude,” he said dryly.

Of course. Because Dean could never express an idea properly; he always had to say something else and expect others to understand him. Apparently, it was a problem that he’d had for his entire life.

“Well regardless, I’ll be alright,” he told Dean. “I’m stronger than I appear.”

“Because you aren’t human?”

Castiel glanced sharply at Dean.

“You appeared out of thin air, man,” the boy said, raising his hand. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. What are you, though?”

“A friend,” Castiel replied. He knew that he could not tell the young Winchester who he really was. A random conversation could easily be forgotten, but an encounter with an angel could alter Dean’s entire existence. “My name is Cas.”

The nickname felt strange on his lips. When Dean had first started to use it, the butchery of his name had been a bit jarring, unfamiliar, but now it filled him with warmth whenever he heard one of the Winchesters use it. The name made him feel special, accepted into a small but remarkable family. It would have felt wrong for this young version of Dean to call him anything else. He just hoped that he would get the chance to hear the old version of Dean call him Cas again.

“Good to meet you, Cas,” said Dean.

The angel felt a twinge of sadness. The older Dean was not nearly this trusting. He had tried to kill Castiel several times, and it had been months before the hunter viewed him even remotely as a friend. Castiel did not like to think about what had caused the closing off of Dean’s heart, but it had no doubt involved a considerable amount of pain for the young hunter. Eager to distract himself, the angel examined their surroundings again. There really was not much more to look at, other than a row of scraggly trees and a rusty chain link fence bordering the sparse field.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“You don’t know?”

“I was uh…pretty out of it,” replied Castiel, using a phrase he had heard from the Winchesters. He was not exactly sure what “it” was that he was supposed to be out of, but the phrase seemed to make sense to Dean, because he did not question the angel further.

“Well, we’re behind the Elwood County Elementary School.”

“Oh.” Castiel glanced over at Dean appraisingly. “You’re supposed to be inside the Elwood County Elementary School, aren’t you?”

“What, you going to turn me in?” asked Dean defensively. “Because I’ll tell everyone you’re a perve, and you’ll get in trouble.”

“I have no intention of reporting your behavior to any authority figures,” Castiel assured him. “I don’t believe that this school is of much use to you anyway.”

“Yeah, try telling them that,” said Dean, relaxing slightly.

“I doubt that it would be very effective,” said Castiel. “They have no reason to listen to me.”

He would be willing to try though, if it would make Dean happier. But the young hunter just raised an eyebrow at the angel.

“You’re pretty literal, aren’t you?” the boy asked.

Castiel sighed. Dean must have been saying something that he did not mean again. He wished that his friend would at least give him some warning before he did that.

“I suppose I am,” the angel replied. “I am still fairly unaccustomed to interacting with people.”

“Well, you’re not missing much,” said Dean, his tone suddenly bitter. The boy tore up a fistful of the grass that the two of them were sitting on, his face stormy. Castiel feared for a moment that the anger was directed at him, but he realized that Dean was glowering not at the angel, but the back of the dingy school building.

“There’s a reason you are skipping school on this particular day, isn’t there?” he surmised.

Dean sighed and nodded, still frowning at the offending structure. Castiel remained silent, not wanting to press his friend. After a few moments however, words began to spill forth from the boy in a tide that had clearly been building for some time.

“It’s just, they all treat me like I’m stupid,” he said angrily, tugging up another handful of grass and shredding it in his fingers. “The teachers act like I’ll never become anything because I’m not good at math and I don’t read as fast as everyone else. They say I should pay more attention in class. Well, maybe I would, if they were teaching anything worth learning. But when am I going to use any of this stuff? Never. I could be spending the time learning useful things, but instead I have to sit in a stuffy room going over multiplication tables a million and one times!”

Dean paused, slightly out of breath from his tirade. He still did not look at Castiel, violently tearing up more grass instead, scattering clods of dirt onto the edge of the angel’s trench coat.

“They laughed at me,” he muttered eventually.

“Why?”

“Thirteen times seven. Mr. McGallagher asked me what thirteen times seven was, and I didn’t know, and everyone laughed at me, including Christina Bell.”

This must have been why Dean’s reaction was so strong. He could handle insults and challenges, but being derided by someone he probably admired must have wounded the boy deeply. Castiel felt his fingers curl into fists, and a spike of anger pierced him. Whoever this Christina Bell was, she was unworthy of Dean’s affections, and should not have had the power to hurt him like this. But there was nothing he could do about it. Dean would not take kindly to having his battles fought for him, and despite his anger, Castiel would not harm a child.

“It’s 91,” Castiel told Dean, hoping to spare his friend from another such incident. It was apparently the wrong thing to say however, because Dean threw up his hands in frustration, showering them both with bits of grass.

“I know that now, Cas!” he exclaimed. “Despite what everyone thinks, I’m not an idiot. I figured it out, I just couldn’t do it in two seconds with everyone watching me.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Dean,” said Castiel firmly. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Dean glanced over at the angel, not seeming to believe him, but his face softening anyway.

“Whatever,” he said. “I don’t even care. We won’t be here much longer.”

But this time, Castiel could tell that his friend did not mean what he was saying. Dean’s soul was in turmoil, and the angel could sense the boy’s hurt, embarrassment, and self-doubt.

“Your teachers are wrong about you,” he told Dean. “You will have a future more important than they could have imagined, and you will be a great man.”

Dean laughed, though Castiel had not intended for his words to be humorous.

“Yeah right, Cas,” Dean said. “I may not be stupid, but I’m nothing special.”

Castiel sighed. He had sighed more in the past year and a half than he had in the thousands that had come before them; the cost of growing close to the Winchesters, apparently. But Dean was so wrong about himself. He would grow to be a peerless hunter, brother, and human; a man so remarkable that an angel who had been loyal since his creation would rebel against everything he knew for him. Perhaps his brilliance could not be quantified by human measures, but it was certainly there. But there was not much that he could do about Dean’s lack of self-confidence now. He could not tell Dean about his future, and the boy had no reason to trust a stranger.

An angry buzzing sound began to emit from the dull school building, and it was Dean’s turn to sigh.

“I have to go to my next class,” he said ruefully. “Otherwise they’ll call my dad, and he’d be mad.”

He clambered to his feet before turning to help Castiel from the ground. But then his face split into a grin. He leaned forward, and Castiel felt small fingers brushing through his hair. The angel leaned into the contact, watching as scraps of greenery fluttered to the ground around him.

“Sorry about that,” said Dean, dusting the last of the grass from Castiel’s coat. The angel smiled at him, not minding the vegetation, but happy that he could at least bring some measure of amusement to his friend, happy to be close to him and know that for the time being, he was safe.

Castiel accepted Dean’s hand, allowing the boy to help him to his feet. He staggered slightly, his vessel informing him in no uncertain terms that he was not fully recovered.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be alright, Cas?” asked Dean in concern as he steadied the angel. “You still don’t look good.”

“I am weaker than I would like,” the angel admitted. “But I still have enough strength to get where I need to.”

He extended his wings experimentally, and when they did not cause him too much pain, he took off. It was not until he was being buffeted about by the river of time that he realized he probably should have given Dean some kind of farewell. But it was too late to worry about it. It was all that the angel could do to cling to the thread of Dean’s timeline, letting it pull him forward to the family that needed him.

But the angel was still weak, and he suddenly found himself tumbling from the timestream. His feet slammed into the ground and he collapsed, scraping his palms on what turned out to be pavement. More blood dribbled from his mouth as he coughed, and Castiel ground his teeth in frustration. Even cut off from heaven, he was still an angel, and this frailty was beneath him.

“Cas?” asked an almost familiar voice.

Castiel whipped his head up, finding himself face to face with what was clearly a teenaged Dean Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

“Cas, you okay?” Dean asked in concern, dropping to his knees beside the angel and grabbing him by the shoulders. He helped Castiel settle onto the ground and used his sleeve to wipe away the blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “Are you hurt anywhere, or is this just your usual crap?”

Usual crap? This should only have been the second time that Dean encountered Castiel. How could there be a “usual”?

“I’m unharmed,” he told the teenager. “I just need to rest.”

Dean relaxed a little and sat back on his heels, though he left a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Um, should I go call 911, or something?”

Castiel looked up to see a girl, most likely also in her teenage years, staring at the two of them uncertainly. Dean glanced back at her impatiently, as if he had forgotten about her presence.

“No, it’s okay,” he told her. “He’s a friend of mine; I’ll take care of him. You should probably go home, April.”

The girl looked affronted. Castiel did not understand how Dean’s comment could have offended her, but then she spoke again.

“Audrey.”

“What?” asked Dean, still impatient.

“My name is Audrey, not April.”

“Oh. Right.”

Audrey stared at him, seeming to expect something more from him. When nothing was forthcoming, she emitted a little huffing noise, turned on her heel, and stalked away, muttering what sounded like ‘unbelievable’, as well as few unsavory remarks about her taste in males. Castiel could read no true hurt in her though, merely annoyance and disapproval.

“You’re sure you’re okay, Cas?” Dean asked as soon as she was gone. “This is the worst I’ve seen you in a long time.”

Instead of answering him, Castiel took a closer look at their surroundings. They were in a dim alcove beside a large building, apparently called the Mirkwood Theater, if the glowing sign running down the side was accurate. It was one of the places humans went to see films. Dean and the girl must have been on their way to or from the theater. Castiel had watched humanity enough to know what that meant.

“You were…on a date,” said Castiel slowly. He was not sure why the idea felt so odd to him. He knew that Dean had a very active sexual history, had even copulated with Anna before she regained her grace, but never had that knowledge caused this strange, somewhat unpleasant tugging sensation in the angel’s chest. Dean looked mildly uncomfortable.

“Well…yeah. I was bored, she was hot, she didn’t mind seeing an action movie instead of a chick flick…I didn’t know that you were gonna show up, Cas! It hasn’t been as long as usual.”

“When was the last time you saw me?” Castiel asked in confusion.

“Uh, five, maybe six months ago. You haven’t been coming as often lately. I try not to think about it too much.”

Castiel stared at Dean. He was certainly not an expert in human growth, but he did know for certain that it took more than six months to change from the boy that Castiel had talked with behind the school, to the lanky young man he was currently facing. This did not bode well for his prospects of getting back to his proper time.

“What year am I in now?” he asked as he got painfully to his feet. Dean rose with him, making sure that he would not topple over. When the angel remained upright, merely swaying slightly, Dean’s watchful face relaxed into a grin.

“It’s 1997, Batman,” he said. Castiel assumed that the name was a reference to something, because Dean certainly seemed to remember his actual name. He was a bit affronted by his comparison of angels to bats though. “Where are you gonna fly to next?”

“2010, hopefully,” Castiel replied. “But I’m beginning to suspect that won’t happen.”

Dean’s face was unreadable as he studied Castiel carefully. He reached forward and plucked one last stray piece of grass from behind the angel’s ear.

“This is the beginning for you, isn’t it?” he asked at last. “You just came from that day behind the school.”

“How many times have you seen me, Dean?” asked Castiel in quiet desperation. “How long am I doomed to spend trapped in your past?”

“Is it really so bad?” asked Dean, his tone neutral but his soul betraying his hurt. “Spending time with me? I…miss you, Cas. You’ll disappear for months, and I won’t see you, and I hate it. Can’t you just _stay_?”

Castiel stared searchingly at Dean, examining his soul more carefully. A tidal wave of unfamiliar emotions crashed through him when he saw the depth of the feelings that the hunter had for him. But it was not just depth. Castiel had seen how Dean felt about Sam, the most important person in his life; he knew what that looked like. But what the angel was seeing in Dean Winchester’s soul at the moment was not like that. Not like that at all.

Castiel stumbled away from Dean, shaking his head in confusion and fear. He had done something dreadful to Dean’s timeline, had warped it in such a way that the hunter now thought that he was in love with the angel. And worse than that, Castiel found that he was not even sorry. But he should have been. He should not have a warm glow in his core, because his Dean, the one that was probably fighting for his life in the present, would have been disgusted, furious at Castiel for the changes that he had wrought. What had become of that Dean? Had the angel’s meddling made him cease to exist?

“Cas, what is it?” asked Dean anxiously, trying to approach the angel.

“What have I done to you?” Castiel asked wretchedly. “What have I done to your _life_?”

He stretched out his wings, fumbling desperately for the entrance to the timestream that would allow him to leave Dean. He caught one last glimpse of the hunter’s hurt, confused face, before he was tumbling through the roaring current again. His lack of preparation meant that Castiel was utterly disoriented, unable to determine in which direction he was travelling.

Despite his better judgment, Castiel still clung to Dean’s timeline like a life preserver, knowing that he would get irretrievably lost without it. Since he was not so much flying through time as trying to stay afloat in it, Castiel decided to exit the stream, so that he could have the time to prepare properly. He tumbled back into the physical plane, appearing in what looked to be a hotel room like the ones that the Winchesters so often occupied. A brief surge of hope rose in him, and he thought that perhaps he had made it back to his proper time. But then his gaze landed on a young face that should not have been so familiar, and he groaned.

“Dammit, I’m never getting back,” he groaned, sinking onto one of the room’s musty beds, head dropping into his hands. He was pleased to realize that the pain was not quite as bad as before. Perhaps his weakened body was becoming accustomed to all of this time travel.

“Don’t sulk,” scolded an adolescent Dean Winchester, walking up to the angel. “You just have to try harder, okay?”

Castiel looked up at him hopelessly.

“Dean, the fact that you know enough to be able to say that to me strongly indicates that trying harder will not be sufficient.”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.

“So it’s one of those days, huh?” he asked, plunking himself down beside Castiel. “Awesome.”

“One of _what_ days?” the angel asked grumpily.

“Every once in a while, you show up with your trench coat all in a twist, and you grouch about how your powers aren’t working and that you’re screwing up my life, and blah blah blah. But can we just skip that part today? I want to go to the movies.”

Castiel blinked and shook his head, as if that would help to clear it. He studied Dean. The boy appeared to be a few years older than when the angel had met him behind the school, though he was still years from becoming the teenager that Castiel had last encountered. He could only imagine what _that_ version of Dean was thinking of him. This Dean was not in love with him, viewed him merely as a friend, perhaps even an older brother. The change was a relief, as it made things feel simpler, easier for Castiel to handle, and the turmoil inside him calmed slightly.

The angel was slowly coming to accept the fact that he would be stuck in this timeline for a while. Perhaps that did not have to be a bad thing. He had panicked earlier, but he could make this work. He could be a friend to Dean, the guardian that he and Sam deserved. He would just have to be careful about his influence on the boys’ lives. And he would be lying if he told himself that spending more time with the Winchesters was not an enjoyable prospect. At least he would get to be with them a little longer, if they really were… But Castiel did not want to consider the possibility that he was fighting so hard to return to a family that was no longer waiting for him. Meeting that pair of hopeful green eyes, Castiel knew that he had made his decision. He just did not know if he had made it for the right reasons.

“What film would you like to see?” he asked with a small smile. That smile grew when Dean’s face split into a huge grin, and he jumped up in excitement, pulling the angel up as well and giving him a quick hug.

“The new Batman movie!” he said, already on his way to the door. “It’s been out for a whole week, and I haven’t seen it yet.”

Batman. Interesting. Perhaps now Castiel would understand what Dean had been talking about in 1997. He followed Dean, who was chatting excitedly, out of the motel and through the streets of a small town. He caught a glimpse of a sign beside a bank, proclaiming the date to be June 27, 1992.

The angel was pleasantly surprised to find that the pain continued to recede from his battered body. Perhaps because he had not fought his way through the timestream on his most recent trip, but simply allowed it to carry him, he had not put as much strain on himself and could therefore recover faster.

“Isn’t that the movie theater?” Castiel asked, pointing to the building that resembled the one he had appeared beside last time, though it was smaller and cleaner. Dean followed his gaze and nodded.

“Yeah, but we can’t go in yet,” he told the angel. “The next showing won’t start for another half an hour, and we need to pick up Sammy from the library. The nerd has been there all day, even though it’s summer. He’s been reading for _fun_. I’m not gonna let him miss this though.”

Castiel smiled at the prospect of seeing Sam Winchester again. Though his connection with Dean was deeper, forged in hell and strengthened to the point of rebellion, Sam had become like a brother to him, and he had missed his presence.

The angel tailed Dean to a small brick building, identified by a sign at the entrance as the Oakland County Public Library. The two of them found Sam inside, sitting cross-legged between two of the stacks in the history section, small piles of books splayed around him, his face wrinkled in concentration as he focused on the book in his hands. Castiel bent down to check the cover. The title was unfamiliar to him, but the volume seemed to be about the history of dog breeding.

“Hey Sammy,” said Dean cheerfully. “Look who stopped by.”

The nine year old looked up, a bright smile overtaking his face when he caught sight of the angel.

“Cas!” he cried in delight, leaping up and throwing his arms around Castiel’s middle. Castiel returned the hug, rather amused at how small his friend was. Sam was at least two feet shorter than the angel, and if he had any muscles to speak of, they had yet to make an appearance.

“Hello Sam,” said Castiel once the boy had released him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Come on,” interrupted Dean. “We’re gonna miss the movie.”

He started pulling them towards the door, but Sam broke away with a cry of protest, scrambling to pick up the books on the floor so that he could return them to their shelves. Castiel helped him, while Dean rolled his eyes at both of them. Once the task was complete, Sam was happy to follow his big brother and the angel out of the quiet building and back through the town to the movie theater.

“Can you get the tickets, Cas?” asked Dean once they were inside.

“Uh, I don’t know how,” the angel replied. “I’ve never had to purchase anything with human currency. I don’t have any with me.”

 _That was always your job_ , he thought, but he refrained from vocalizing the statement. It was still strange to see the Winchesters, especially Dean, without any knowledge of the years that they would spend together in the future. It felt like something was missing.

“Oh,” said Dean, looking like he was trying to hide disappointment. “It’s just, Dad’s been on a hunt for the last two weeks, and the food money is running a pretty low, so we um, we can’t really…”

“I see,” said Castiel, interrupting because Dean seemed to be reluctant to admit that they were struggling financially. He felt a surge of frustration towards John Winchester, angry that the man had not provided for his children properly before he left. Sam and Dean deserved better parents. The angel wondered what the boys’ lives would have been like had Mary been the one to survive instead of John. No doubt she would have taken better care of Sam and Dean. Still, speculation was pointless. Mary was dead, John was negligent, and Castiel was there now, so he would do his best to give the Winchesters what they deserved. “I believe I can handle this.”

He placed a gentle hand on each boy’s shoulder, closing his eyes in concentration. He stretched out his wings carefully, using them to propel the three of them the short distance into the theater. The trip was not overly taxing, as it was only a matter of a dozen yards, and there was no time travel involved.

“Cool!” said Dean in awe once he saw where they were. “Did we just fly?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Castiel replied, knowing that there was no point in explaining the nuances of angelic travel to the thirteen year old.

Dean led them to three adjacent seats in the middle of the theater, and he and Sam sank onto the faded cushions. For Castiel however, there was another stop to make. He focused again, making himself invisible before flitting back into the entrance of the building, behind what he believed was called a concession stand. He grabbed the biggest bucket of popcorn available, as well as a bag of small, colorful candies that he had seen Dean eating on occasion. The expressions on the faces of the boys when he returned were well worth the effort it had taken to make the trip. He did not like to think about how little they had been eating lately, trying to make their money last.

“You’re the best, Cas; thanks!” said Dean as the angel sat down next to him and handed him the food. “Dude, you even got M&M’s!”

He dumped several of the candies into Sam’s waiting hands before digging into the bag himself. Then they started in on the popcorn. Castiel could not recall ever seeing someone eat that quickly, nor did he remember taking such satisfaction in watching humans eat. Once again, he wondered what it was about these boys, and the men that they would grow to be, that had changed him so, had made him _care_ more than was ever supposed to be possible for angels.

“This movie’s gonna be awesome,” Dean told his companions excitedly between mouthfuls. Castiel could feel his seat vibrating as the boy bounced in place, seeming barely able to contain his eagerness.

“He’s obsessed with Batman,” Sam confided, leaning over his brother to talk to the angel.

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s _awesome_ ,” said Dean. “Just wait, Cas, you’re gonna love it.”

“What if this one sucks?” asked Sam. “Lots of sequels suck.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean told him. Coming from anyone else, Castiel knew that the term would be an insult, but the affection in Dean’s voice was unmistakable, and Sam seemed unfazed. “There’s no way that _Batman Returns_ is going to suck. It’s a scientific impossibility for any movie involving Batman to suck.”

“Whatever,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “Jerk.”

“I don’t understand how science-” began Castiel in confusion, but then the screen flashed to life, and Dean’s hand flew up to cover the angel’s mouth, silencing him without taking his eyes from the glowing screen.

Castiel had never been to see a movie before, but he found the experience fascinating. The science behind the plot was utterly illogical, and yet the story was still compelling. The angel was surprised by his reaction to the film. He found that he was emotionally invested in the characters, pleased when Batman succeeded, angry when his adversaries bested him. Had any of his brothers or sisters told him two years ago that one day Castiel would enjoy spending an afternoon watching a movie with two human children, he would have reported them for insanity. Of course, looking at himself now, Castiel was not confident that the word ‘sane’ applied to him either.

But equally as entertaining as the film itself were the Winchesters’ reactions to it. Though Sam had expressed his doubts about the quality of the movie, Castiel could tell by the way his eyes shone and he leaned forward in his seat that he was enjoying it. Every once in a while though, when the action got intense, he would lean towards his brother, and Dean would put a reassuring arm around his shoulders until Sam shrugged it off. And Dean…Castiel had never seen that expression on his friend’s face before. It made him smile. He was genuinely disappointed when the last of the credits vanished from the screen and the theater lights came on.

“So, what did you think?” Dean asked the angel anxiously after they had exited the theater.

“I enjoyed it immensely,” Castiel replied sincerely. “And you?”

He knew for a fact that Dean had been enthralled for the entire film, even breaking out into cheers in some places.

“It was awesome!” the boy shouted, earning a few glances from passersby. “Especially when Batman saved that…”

Sam caught Castiel’s gaze and rolled his eyes, though there was a fond smile on his face. Dean did not miss the gesture, and he cuffed the back of his brother’s head playfully.

“Well, what did you think of it, Catwoman?” he asked. Sam scowled. “You can’t lie to me; I saw you smiling.”

“Yeah, I was laughing at how much of a doofus you were being,” Sam told him. It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “And I’m not Catwoman.”

“Whatever. It’s okay Sammy; your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell the librarians that you actually liked a movie.” Dean turned back to the angel. “Thanks for this, Cas. You really are the best.”

The smile that had been growing on his face as he watched the brothers stretched even wider when he met Dean’s earnest gaze, and the feeling of warmth that he was beginning to associate with the young hunter rose up once more in his chest.

“You’re welcome, Dean,” he replied, knowing that he would not be able to convey what the experience had truly meant to him.

“Do you want to come get ice cream with us?” Dean asked hopefully. “I know you don’t have to eat, but you can still taste, right? Trust me, you’ll love ice cream.”

The smile slipped away from Castiel’s face. It would be so easy, he knew, to accept Dean’s offer, to allow himself to stay just another hour, and another one after that, and yet more after those. If he let himself, he would stay indefinitely. But the Winchesters, _his_ Winchesters, needed him, and he could not fail them again. He needed to keep moving.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said softly, wincing internally as he watched the boy’s face fall, and Sam’s as well. “But I must continue.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Dean quietly, looking down and scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. “Sorry, Cas. I know that whatever you’re doing is important.”

“It is,” Castiel agreed. He bent down, forcing his friend to meet his gaze. “But so are you. Please believe me when I say that I would stay here with you if I could.”

Dean’s expression lightened by a fraction, and he nodded. Sam stepped around his brother to give the angel another hug.

“Bye, Cas,” he said. “See you again sometime?”

Castiel was glad that this question at least could be answered well.

“Absolutely,” he replied, and both boys smiled.

He was about to reenter the time stream, but the sight of a popcorn crumb on Sam’s shirt stopped him. He took wing, travelling not through time, but space, to the nearest store that sold food. He flitted about the shelves at a speed that humans could not process, ceasing only once he had collected enough food to sustain the Winchesters for another two weeks. He flew back to the motel room where he had first arrived, leaving the food on the rickety table. He hoped that the boys would return shortly, as he had included a tub of ice cream, to make up for not going with them after the movie.

And with that, the angel allowed himself to fall into the space between dimensions, feeling the power of time rushing around him. Testing out his earlier theory, he did not try to struggle against the current, simply anchoring himself to Dean’s timeline and letting himself be carried along it, hoping that eventually he would find his way back to the family that needed him.


	3. Chapter 3

Though the journey was not as painful and difficult as his previous ones had been, it was still incredibly draining. All too soon, Castiel was tumbling out of the timestream again. He found himself standing in a wet parking lot, a dump of a motel sitting before him. He gazed at the building, knowing without even needing to extend his senses that Dean was inside it. He wondered if he ought to remain in place, leaving Dean in peace this time. It was an unappealing prospect. He was saved from needing to make the decision by the sound of a now-familiar voice from inside.

“Hey Sammy, I’m going out to get a coke.”

“Come on Dean, stop lying,” said Sam’s young voice. “Who’s that guy in the trenchcoat?”

“I don’t know. He just shows up sometimes and then disappears.”

Sam must not have met the angel yet. It seemed like as good a time as any to introduce himself. Castiel stretched out his wings and let them carry him the short distance into the hotel room. When he landed, he turned to face the younger Winchester.

“Hello Sam,” he said with a smile, turning to the boy’s older brother and adding “Dean.”

He was happy to see them again, but apparently they did not feel the same way. Sam backed away, turning to his brother.

“Dean, he’s here,” he said, his young voice frightened. “H-help me.”

“He won’t hurt us,” said Dean, walking over to stand beside Sam. He looked up at the angel uncertainly. “Right Cas? Right?”

“Of course not,” said Castiel, freezing in place and trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. He must have erred. He should not have assumed that these Winchesters would be as comfortable with him he knew they would be in the future. He did not like being so mistrusted by the humans he cared about. “I would never harm either of you.”

Dean relaxed, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulder. They both looked about two years younger than they had the last time Castiel had encountered them.

“See Sammy?” said Dean. “Nothing to worry about. Cas is one of the good guys.”

“Okay, I guess,” said Sam, seeming willing to trust his brother. Castiel smiled at him again, before sinking onto the couch that he had materialized in front of. While this trip had not been quite as taxing as his previous ones, he was still weary, and taking the weight from his feet was a very welcome relief.

“You need anything, Cas?” asked Dean, noticing the older man’s fatigue.

“Nothing that you can provide,” the angel replied. “Unless of course you have a way to get me the power I need to make it through twenty years of time unscathed.”

“Uh, no; I don’t think we do. We do have licorice though.” Dean swiped a package of candy from the motel room table and tossed it at the angel, who caught it and looked at it bemusedly. “It’s a superfood.”

“Oh, dude, don’t give him that crap,” said Sam. “Give him some good food.”

“Licorice _is_ good food, Sammy. You just don’t have a refined enough palate to appreciate it. But Cas will. Go on, try some,” he encouraged.

The angel pulled a red strip of candy from the packaging and looked at it uncertainly. He glanced up at Sam, who just shook his head in warning, but Dean was watching him hopefully. Castiel sighed and took a bite. Dean smiled but Sam waited, watching carefully as Castiel chewed the rubbery sweet.

It was a struggle not to spit the vile candy out. Castiel regretted his decision to humor Dean. He should have known that Sam would be the more sensible one, even when they were so young. Sam laughed as he watched the angel’s face twist in disgust.

“See? Cas thinks it’s gross too, Dean,” said the younger boy in triumph. Dean glowered at him.

“Whatever,” he said sulkily. “I know it’s good.”

Castiel disagreed with him strongly about that, but by this point he knew better than to vocalize that thought. The incident did at least have the effect of making Sam less wary of him. The young hunter-to-be sat down on the couch next to the angel.

“I could make you a peanut butter and banana sandwich, if you want to try food that actually tastes good,” he offered.

“Um, I think I’ve experimented with human food enough for one day, thank you Sam,” Castiel replied. Dean snorted.

“Good call, Cas,” he said. “If you thought the licorice was bad…”

Sam pulled a piece of said licorice out of the bag that was still in Castiel’s hand, flinging it at his brother’s head. Dean caught the candy in his mouth and ate it smugly. Sam burst out laughing and gave the boy a grudging round of applause.

“You two are strangely quite endearing as children,” said Castiel, smiling as he looked between the two of them. It was nice to see this light playfulness. It would be a painfully rare occurrence when they got older.

“Yeah, if you look past how annoying this one is,” said Dean, ruffling his brother’s hair affectionately. Sam batted his hand away, glaring up at him.

“You know Dean, one day I’m going to be taller than you, and you won’t be able to reach my head, but I’m going to mess your hair up all the time, and we’ll see how you like it,” Sam said threateningly. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Never gonna happen, Sammy,” he said confidently. “You’re always gonna be a shrimp.”

Castiel fought to hide his smile. He wondered if he would get to see the moment that Dean realized his little brother was nearly four inches taller than him. There would probably be a considerable amount of bragging involved.

ooooooooooooooooo

The angel spent the rest of the afternoon with the Winchesters. It was longer than he really needed to rest, but he could not bring himself to leave. He enjoyed watching the brothers bicker, or helping Sam with his science homework while Dean accused them both of being nerds, or letting Dean introduce him to comic books, which were apparently the only thing worth reading. It was only when Dean told him that John would be coming home soon that he finally got ready to set off. He had no desire to speak to the eldest Winchester.

“It was nice to meet you, Cas,” said Sam as the angel prepared for flight. Castiel smiled at him and Dean.

“And you, Sam,” he replied, before letting his wings propel him back into the timestream.

Despite the fact that he was only using his wings to stay afloat, traveling through the raging torrent of time was extremely taxing, and Castiel soon found that he needed a break, or he would not have had the strength to maintain his grip on Dean’s timeline. The first thing that the angel registered as he felt himself slip back into material existence was the sound of beeping. The second thing was the sound of singing.

_“And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you that it’s a fool who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder.”_

Castiel watched Mary sing, and he felt another Winchester secure a place in his previously simple heart. The young woman was peering down into a bedlike structure, crooning to what Castiel could sense was her infant son. Castiel did not want to interrupt her, but then he realized that the mother was crying as she sang, and that the beeping was coming from numerous pieces of hospital machinery surrounding them, in what was clearly a patient room in a human healthcare facility. This combination of factors could only mean one thing.

“Mary,” the angel said urgently, stepping forward. The woman gasped and turned sharply, moving to put herself between her son and the intruder. When she saw who it was though, she relaxed.

“Castiel,” she breathed.

“What’s wrong with Dean?” demanded Castiel anxiously, moving around Mary so that he could peer into the strange box-bed. The sight that greeted him left him winded, as if someone had stabbed him in the diaphragm.

Dean was tiny and pale, far paler than any human should be. But worse than that was the utter and terrifying stillness of his body. It did not even look as though the infant were breathing. The minuscule body lay in a nest of wires and tubes, needles poking into him and patches over his skin. Castiel reached instinctively into the tangle, not sure what he was doing, but unable to see Dean so sick and alone.

“Wait Castiel, it’s not safe to move him,” said Mary, reaching out a hand to stop the angel. “Those machines are keeping him alive.”

They did not seem to be doing a good job. Castiel pulled the infant out of the box and held him securely in his arms. He placed a gentle hand over Dean’s small chest and closed his eyes. The tiny human was weak, dangerously, terrifyingly so. His life force, usually so powerfully present, was flickering alarmingly.

“He’s been sick for two weeks,” said Mary quietly once she realized that the angel would not relinquish her son. “He had a low fever, and then a cough. But it got really bad two days ago. We brought him here and the doctors say that he had pneumonia. They’re giving him antibiotics, but he’s still getting worse. And twenty minutes ago he…he stopped breathing. They had to put him on a ventilator, and he’s only seven months old.”

Mary put a hand over her mouth, fresh tears beginning to spill down her cheeks as she stared at the motionless baby in Castiel’s arms.

“Please tell me you can help him,” she begged the angel.

“I can help him,” Castiel replied absently, reaching for his healing powers. He tried to let those powers flow into Dean, but nothing happened. He frowned and tried again.

“No,” he muttered, realizing that his grace was so drained from his trip that he had nothing left with which to heal Dean.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mary anxiously. “You just said you could help him! You’re an angel, can’t you just fix him?”

Castiel opened his eyes and met her gaze helplessly. Once again she reminded him of Sam, and of when the youngest Winchester had looked the angel in the eye and demanded a miracle for Dean after Castiel had allowed him to be grievously injured by Alastair. And just as he had at that time, Castiel was unable to give a satisfactory answer.

“Mary, I’m…not like most angels. I’m…weaker. I don’t posses the power that it will take to heal Dean. I thought that I did, but I don’t.”

Surely this could not be it. Surely Dean would get better on his own. He would survive to adulthood; he had to. But as Castiel felt Dean’s life force slipping further and further away, the young soul’s hold on its body becoming more tenuous, doubt grew in the angel.

“That’s bullshit,” said Mary angrily. “You promised me, Castiel. You promised me that you would watch over him. Well, you didn’t do that, and you’re telling me that you can’t heal him now that you finally bothered to show up?”

She was right to be furious with him. It was astounding how many ways he had found to let Dean down. He looked down at the child in his arms. It was impossible to see the astonishing man from Castiel’s memory in the sick infant, but the angel could feel the soul that they shared. It was a soul that he would recognize anywhere, that he would be drawn to from anywhere. It was the most important soul in his universe.

He could not let Dean die. The world could not do without Dean Winchester. _Castiel_ could not do without Dean Winchester. The angel closed his eyes again, his palm still pressed to the infant’s chest. He reached out with his grace, catching hold of Dean’s soul as it tried to leave his body. Castiel cradled that soul for a moment. It felt right in his grasp, pure and warm and beautiful in a way that nothing else was. The angel had caught glimpses of it before, but holding it like this was another experience entirely.

But then came the difficult part of the procedure. Normally, Castiel could have used his vast reserves of power to repair Dean’s body, purging the illness from it and making it habitable again. But cut off from heaven and weakened by time travel as he was, the angel had no reserves. But maybe he had just enough…

Castiel drew on the power of his core self, the very essence of his grace, his being. He let it flow into Dean’s body, healing as it went. The angel smiled as he felt Dean’s life force growing stronger, even as he was aware that he himself was becoming dangerously weak. He felt himself fading, everything he had leeching away into the tiny human in his arms and darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision. But he did not stop, pouring himself away until he was sure that Dean was in perfect health. The last thing that he was aware of before he lost his hold on everything and faded into blackness was the sound of crying; powerful, healthy, human cries.

ooooooooooooooooo

“Castiel? Can you hear me?”

Never before had the angel experienced being stroked on the forehead, but he was fairly certain that this was what was currently happening to him. He forced his reluctant eyes open, blinking until he could focus on the relieved face of Mary Winchester.

“Oh, thank God,” the young woman said, leaving a warm hand resting on Castiel’s hair. “You’ve been asleep for two days. I was starting to think you might never wake up. Are you alright?”

“Dean,” said Castiel, struggling to sit up as he remembered what had happened before his second unintentional foray into unconsciousness. He had to see if Dean was alright.

“He’s fine,” said Mary. Her tone was soothing, but her grip was steely as she held the angel in place. “He’s perfect, Castiel. Whatever you did, it saved him. But apparently it almost killed you, so just relax, will you?”

Castiel settled, realizing that perhaps Mary was right about him needing to rest. There was a strange hollowness in his chest, barely noticeable, but definitely there. No doubt it was the absence of the grace that he had used on Dean, whatever part of it that had failed to replenish. There was something else different too, slight and unidentifiable but surprisingly pleasant.

He glanced around, taking in the plain walls of a hospital room. He must have still been in the facility where he had found Mary and Dean. Oh, if his brothers could see him now, lying in a bed in a building where humans went when they were sick.

“I survived,” he mused. He had not been sure that his being could handle being drawn upon like that. The core of an angelic grace was never meant to be tapped in such a way. “That’s impressive.”

“Yeah,” said Mary with a small chuckle. “It’s definitely a plus.”

“Plus what?”

“I meant that it was a good thing, Castiel.”

“Oh.” Castiel made note of the phrase for future reference. He wondered if there would ever come a time when he understood all human idioms.

“So you’re really alright?” Mary confirmed, her face growing more serious. “You just collapsed. I wasn’t even sure if you were breathing. But as soon as you went down, Dean was absolutely fine. What happened?”

“I used my core energy to heal Dean. That power was never intended to be utilized for such a purpose. The effort nearly drained me completely.”

Mary stared searchingly at the angel.

“Who are you, Castiel?” she asked finally.

“I’m an angel of the-” he began, surprised that she would forget something like that.

“That’s not what I meant,” interrupted Mary. “I mean…why…I don’t get the sense that angels are really the type to make house calls and sacrifice themselves for random human children.”

“Dean is not random,” said Castiel sharply.

“Not to me, of course. But why does heaven care about him so much?”

“You’re afraid for him,” Castiel surmised, studying her anxious face.

“Tell me I have no reason to be,” she said, half challenging, half pleading.

“I can’t,” said Castiel, wondering after he had spoken if this was one of those occasions on which he was supposed to lie. “But I promised you that I would watch over Dean, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Mary with a small smile. Castiel could not meet her eyes, certain that it would not be advisable to tell her that she only had three years left and would not be able to do what she had just pledged. “I never did thank you though.”

“Thank me?” the angel repeated, bewildered.

“For Dean,” she clarified. “You saved his life. I don’t know what I would have done if he…Anyway, like I said, thank you.”

“I did not do it for you,” he told her honestly, feeling undeserving of thanks for what had really been a selfish act. He had not saved Dean for Mary’s sake, but for his own. It really had not been a difficult choice. He had committed his life to Dean months ago, with his rebellion. Risking it again was not so significant.

Mary’s eyebrows rose.

“Okay…” she said, her tone somewhat lighter than before and her gaze discerning.

“Can I see him?” the angel asked hopefully. Though she had told him that Dean was alright, he still had a hollow ache in his chest, and he thought that the sight of Dean in full health would help assuage that. But Mary’s expression closed off at his words.

“He’s with John,” she told the angel. “They’re both at home now. Please don’t misunderstand me,” she hurried to add as she watched his face. “I’m more grateful than you can imagine for what you did, but my husband doesn’t know anything about it, and I don’t want him to see you and start asking questions that I can’t answer.”

Castiel sensed her regret. He understood her desire to shield her husband from the truth. He would not be the one to tell her that her efforts were useless.

“I understand,” Castiel said, sitting up slowly under Mary’s watchful gaze. They shared a small smile when he remained steady. Standing proved to be too lofty a goal however, and Mary had to catch him quickly and ease him back down onto the bed as his legs buckled beneath him.

“Easy,” she told him sternly. “Whatever you did, it seems to have taken a lot out of you. It’ll probably take more than a microsecond of consciousness before you’re ready to be up and about.”

“I’ve been awake for far longer than a microsecond,” Castiel informed her, eliciting a rolling of her eyes. Sarcasm, the angel realized belatedly. Perhaps one day he would be able to detect it before responding to it. “Besides, you should get back to your family.”

“Yeah,” said Mary. “But I’m beginning to think that you might belong in that category.”

Castiel looked up at her in surprise.

“You hate the supernatural,” he stated in confusion. “And I am an exceptionally supernatural being. Tolerating me because I saved your son is one thing, accepting me as family is quite another.”

Mary gave him a sad smile.

“I’m not blind, Castiel,” she told him. “Or stupid. I saw the way you looked at Dean. It was like your earth turned around him. And I researched angels, after I met you the first time. A few sources say that you can travel in time. Is that true?”

This was straying into very dangerous territory. Castiel said nothing, once more finding himself unable to meet Mary’s eyes. This seemed to be answer enough.

“The Dean you were looking for back then…he was the same as my Dean, wasn’t he?” she asked. When Castiel continued to remain silent, she sighed and sat down on the bed next to him. “I suppose it’s no good asking you what he’s like in the future; I’ll just have to be patient on that one. But…can you at least tell me if he’s happy?”

Castiel looked down at his hands as he contemplated the question. Was Dean happy? No, in a word. Castiel had seen the misery in the hunter’s soul; the pain of losing his family, the weight of all that he had done in hell, the agony wrought by his brother’s betrayal and the onset of the apocalypse. Dean was not happy, had probably never truly been happy since he was four years old.

But perhaps…Castiel thought back to the look of satisfaction and serenity on the hunter’s face when he watched Sam doing research or sitting on the impala. And he remembered the way Dean would laugh, a whole-body laugh, when he tried to teach the angel something that was normal for humans but befuddled, such as working the remote on a television. Castiel smiled, remembering the pride that had filled them both when he had finally managed to successfully switch to the cartoon channel.

“I believe that he is content,” Castiel told Mary at last. The flood of memories made the angel miss the Winchesters more than ever. It was enjoyable to spend time with them when they were young, but he belonged with them in the present.

“Okay,” said Mary softly after staring at him searchingly for a moment. “I guess he’s lucky to have his very own angel looking out for him.”

“I am not sure that ‘lucky’ is the ideal word to describe Dean,” said Castiel ruefully.

“Can I ask what’s keeping you from him?”

“That question has a very complex answer,” he told Mary. She raised an eyebrow again.

“I’ll try to keep up.”

Castiel sighed. He had no business telling her about the future, but what harm could it do? And maybe telling her about it would help to relieve some of the strange pressure that had been slowly building inside his chest.

“I suppose the literal answer is that thirty years are keeping us apart, although the exact number changes frequently. But I’m starting to wonder…”

“What?”

Castiel met Mary’s gentle, shrewd gaze. He did not know what she was seeing in him, but he was certain that it was more than he was used to sharing.

“I’m not human, Mary,” he said eventually. He supposed that this was not exactly a revelation, but the young woman did not interrupt. “I don’t know how to…Can I feel like one? Is this what humanity is? This constant uncertainty, this being torn between what you think you want and what you are not sure anymore is right?”

The angel was surprised when Mary let out a soft chuckle and rested her hand on his arm.

“Well, I don’t know about humanity,” she said. “But that sure does sound a lot like love.”

Castiel looked at her sharply. _I am not in love,_ he meant to tell her. What came out instead was: “You don’t mind?”

Mary sighed, her face growing more serious.

“Well, it is a little strange for me,” she admitted. “Dean is only seven months old here. But for you he isn’t, and like I said, I saw the way you looked at him, and I know that you almost died to save him. Now, it seems like all of this is kind of new to you, so I’m just gonna go ahead and tell you that you love Dean. I just don’t think you know in what way yet.”

Surely that was alright, was it not? God had tasked the angels with being humanity’s sentinels, its guardians. It could not be wrong to love them. Castiel just did not know where the boundaries were, in heaven or in his own heart. He found that he did not much care about the first anymore, but the second…He wondered if he would ever understand the way he felt about Dean Winchester. He hoped so, because this lost and bewildered feeling was not pleasant.

“So just be gentle with my son’s heart in twenty years while you figure it out. Don’t make me come after you,” Mary added.

Her tone was light, but her words saddened Castiel. He found that he would have given quite a lot for her to be able to “come after him”.

Suddenly unable to bear more conversation with the doomed woman, Castiel stood, remaining upright this time. Mary smiled sadly as she rose with him.

“There’s a goodbye coming, isn’t there?” she asked.

“I’ve been told that I am not good at farewells,” the angel replied. For all of the time that he had spent watching humanity, he was still unskilled with their customs. Mary’s smile lightened and she chuckled.

“That’s alright,” she told him. “They’re no fun anyway. How about a hug instead?”

“Uh, I don’t really know how to do that either.” He did not think that the rushed embraces of the adolescent Winchesters really counted.

“Well, that’s what moms are for,” said Mary, extending her arms. “We give really great hugs.”

She pulled him into an embrace. Castiel was surprised at how comforting the gesture was. Irrational as it was, Mary’s embrace felt like safety, like shelter, like family. He felt a tugging sense of loss when she pulled away.

“Bye, Cas,” said Mary, her voice sounding different than it had a moment ago…thicker.

“Goodbye Mary.”

It was not until Castiel was slipping through the impossible tide of time that he realized that Mary had called him Cas.

ooooooooooooooooo

Castiel was propelled by the strong need to see Dean again. While he had trusted Mary when she said that her son was fine, the angel was still plagued by the sight of Dean lying still and pale as death in his arms, his soul beginning to drift out of reach. It was almost with relief that Castiel found that he needed to stop, and he let himself fall back into reality.

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean shouted, and the angel found himself being thrown into the passenger door of the impala as the familiar car swerved erratically across the otherwise empty road.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel greeted after his friend had regained control. “I apologize for startling you.”

“It’s okay,” said a teenaged Dean, taking a deep breath. “I just wish you could give a little warning before you pop in, that’s all.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” said Castiel absently, staring intently at Dean. Something was different, but he could not determine how.

“You okay?” asked Dean, glancing over at Castiel. When their eyes met, his face changed and he slammed his foot on the brakes, bringing the impala to a halt at the side of the road.

“Cas,” he whispered, reaching for the angel. When Dean’s hand met the skin of his cheek, Castiel gasped. He understood now, what the difference was. Because at Dean’s touch, his grace flared up within him, reaching out for the soul of the hunter. Because they were connected. Castiel could feel a piece of Dean’s soul, bright and pure, nestled within his core, tucked safely into the energy of his grace. It must have remained within him when the angel had caught Dean’s soul to prevent it from moving on. But even more astonishing was the fragment of angelic grace that was residing inside the hunter. Castiel could see its light behind Dean’s eyes, latched onto the impossible brightness of his soul. The angel had no idea how he had never seen it before. Or perhaps he had, perhaps that was why he had always found this particular human so compelling. Perhaps part of him had always been able to sense the piece of himself that Dean had been safeguarding since infancy.

“What is this?” Dean asked, his voice equal parts awed and frightened. “I feel…”

“Like you’re seeing me for the first time? Like you and I are two halves yearning to be made whole?” finished Castiel. Even though he knew the reason behind it, the angel was having a difficult time convincing himself that this nearly irresistible attraction was not real.

“Yeah,” said Dean dazedly, hesitantly drawing closer to Castiel. Though the proximity sent a fresh tide of contentment through him, the angel forced himself to pull away.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, his voice sounding strange to him. “I did this to you.”

“Did what?” asked Dean, looking bewildered and hopeful and longing and scared at the same time.

“I believe that your soul and my grace have become…entangled.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that I need a moment to figure this out,” Castiel told Dean, holding up a hand for silence and closing his eyes so that he could focus on the tangle of energy that was binding them together. He caught hold of the piece of his grace that was inhabiting Dean’s chest, tugging gently. It was far more difficult than he had expected to extricate the fragment. It had been a part of Dean for so long that it had started to merge with his essence, and his soul clung to it, unwilling to relinquish its hold.

Castiel realized that it would be nearly impossible for him to remove the entire piece without harming Dean. He left most of it in place, but he drained some of its power, hopefully lessening its influence on both Dean and Castiel. But then it was time to deal with his own condition. He turned his focus inward, grasping the scrap of Dean’s soul that had caught hold within him. Because it had not been in his core for long, it was easier to untangle from his grace. But as he let it flow back into Dean, the cold emptiness that it left behind began to overwhelm the angel. He could not resist leaving just a sliver of Dean’s soul in his own chest, his grace wrapped around it possessively. Surely if Dean could keep a part of Castiel’s grace, the angel was entitled to a fragment of his soul as well.

He knew that the procedure had been effective when he heard Dean sigh in relief and felt him ease back in his seat. The angel could sense the difference as well, no longer feeling pulled irresistibly towards the hunter. Castiel opened his eyes, hoping to meet that familiar set of green ones, but Dean was not looking at him, instead staring out of the windshield with his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

“Dean?” asked Castiel.

“I’m fine,” the hunter replied, obviously hearing the concern in the question.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel again. The words felt insufficient, but he did not know what else to say.

“Don’t be,” said Dean quickly, glancing over at the angel. “I’m not mad at you, I just…this is a lot to process, you know?”

“Perhaps we could take a walk,” suggested Castiel. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell is a walk supposed to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It seems to be what humans do when they need to think about things.”

“You’re not human, Cas.”

“I seem to be getting closer every day,” the angel replied softly, feeling his grace curling even tighter around the fragment of Dean’s soul that he had been unwilling to give up. Where would it end?

Castiel felt Dean’s piercing gaze upon him, and it was his turn to stare out of the window.

“You know what, maybe we should take that walk.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean parked the car more securely on the shoulder, then he and the angel set off down a narrow trail that led through the woods beside the road.

“Where are we?” asked Castiel, glancing at their surroundings. He could hear the steady rush of water, and he knew that the ocean was close by. He found himself hoping that the trail led to a beach. It had been far too long since Castiel had seen the sea.

“Cape Disappointment, Washington,” replied Dean. “And it’s February of 1996, by the way.”

“That seems like an odd choice for a name,” Castiel mused. “Unless it really is disappointing, I suppose.”

“Actually, I’ve heard that it’s beautiful,” said Dean. “Well, maybe not so much in February, but still…”

They were both silent for a long moment. Finally Dean sighed.

“We’re both avoiding it,” he said. Castiel sighed as well.

“I’m finding that I don’t know how to begin,” he admitted.

“Well, you could start by telling me how my soul and your grace became “entangled”.” He emphasized the word by making quotation marks in the air with his fingers. Castiel filed away the gesture for use in the future. Then he began to explain to Dean what had happened in that hospital in 1979.

The hunter was silent throughout the story, and still said nothing after Castiel had finished speaking. The two of them had nearly made it to the beach that was indeed their destination before Dean finally started talking.

“What was she like?” he asked. Castiel knew instantly who the hunter was talking about. He supposed he should have expected Dean to be curious about his mother. His only memories of her had to be extremely limited.

“She was extraordinary,” the angel said honestly. “She was brave and wise and caring. And she loved you very much.”

Dean was silent again. Castiel did not want to push the young man, but after a few minutes, he began to worry.

“Dean?”

“I’m with you, Cas,” Dean replied, not looking at the angel. “I’m just…I know you can’t control this time travel thing of yours, and you won’t tell me where you started, but…can’t you just _try_? Can’t you try to go to that night, or just get as close as you can and wait? You could warn her, protect her-”

“Dean,” Castiel said again. The hunter broke off, finally looking at the angel. The tears that had appeared in his eyes felt like physical blows. “I’m sorry.”

How often he was saying that now. He watched as Dean’s shoulders sagged, the breath leaving his body in an ancient sigh.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice full of tears and hurt. “I get it, Cas.”

He tried to turn away, but Castiel could see his shoulders shaking. The angel stepped forward hesitantly, then pulled Dean into a hug that he hoped was close to the one that Mary had given him. At first Dean was stiff in his embrace, and Castiel wondered if he had done something wrong. But then he heard the hunter pull in a deep breath, and felt the young man’s arms wrapping around him, his hands bunching in the fabric of the angel’s trenchcoat. Castiel closed his eyes, extending his tender wings so that they enveloped Dean. It was all the protection that he could offer the man who had already been so abused by the world.

They stood like that for a long moment as Dean’s silent sobs calmed. The angel wished that he could do more to bring comfort to the man in his embrace. As if in response to his thought, his grace warmed within him, and he could sense the corresponding piece inside Dean flaring up in response. This drew a chuckle from the hunter, who pulled away, wiping his eyes.

“That’s gonna take some getting used to,” he said.

“I could go back in; try to remove a greater-” Castiel began, feeling guilty for not trying harder to put Dean back together properly.

“No, Cas,” interrupted Dean hastily. “I don’t mind. It’s weird, but it’s good weird. It feels nice.”

“It was wrong of me to do this to you,” said Castiel. “You deserve to choose your own path, not to be marked by an angel in your infancy.” He thought back to the only other time he had seen Dean when he was of an age to be involved romantically. He had completely ignored that girl when Castiel had appeared, had not even really cared about her to begin with. “I’ve probably ruined all of your other relationships.”

“Cas, I never stay in one place more than a month or two. I wouldn’t have had any other meaningful relationships anyway. And this, whatever it is that I have with you, it feels better than anything I’ve ever had.”

Castiel looked away, feeling guilty about the thrill that went through him at Dean’s words.

“Hey,” said Dean, stepping back into the angel’s line of sight. “Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I’ll back off.”

Castiel stared at him helplessly. It would be so much easier for both of them if he could tell Dean that he was indifferent. But he could not. He was still not sure how to qualify his feelings, but there was no more denying the fact that they were there. And he treasured this newfound bond with the hunter, surprised by how strong those feelings were turning out to be. When he did not answer, Dean’s face split into a smile.

“There, you see? We can figure this out, whatever it is. It’ll work out. I just know…I know you belong with me.”

Castiel stared at him, a smile tugging irresistibly at the corners of his mouth. Dean’s smile grew, and he laced his fingers through the angel’s, glancing at his face to make sure that it was okay. When Castiel raised no objections, the hunter began to tug him towards the open stretch of sand and sea.

The entire beach was deserted aside from the two of them. The angel and the hunter walked beside the steely gray water. Castiel pulled in a deep breath, not needing the oxygen, but enjoying scent of the ocean. But then he noticed that Dean was shaking again. He looked at the young man’s face, concerned that he was crying again, but Dean did not seem to be in distress.

“You’re cold,” Castiel stated, finally recognizing the shivers for what they were.

“Well, it is February, Cas,” Dean said with a wry grin. “But I’m fine. I don’t want to leave yet.”

“I didn’t say anything about leaving,” said Castiel. Letting go of Dean’s hand, he shrugged out of the trenchcoat that he had been wearing for more than a year. He wrapped the thick fabric around Dean’s shoulders. The hunter looked over at him, an amused smile playing around his lips.

“You’re giving me your jacket?” he asked.

“You were cold,” Castiel repeated. “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Such a gentleman.” Castiel could hear the teasing in Dean’s voice.

“Did I do something wrong?” the angel asked uncertainly.

“No, Cas,” said Dean, settling the coat more firmly around his body. “You did something remarkably human.”

He glanced down at the trenchcoat around his shoulders and chuckled.

“Just like old times, isn’t it?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

Dean glanced at the angel in surprise.

“Has that not happened for you yet?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel replied. Dean laughed.

“Then you are in for an awesome surprise. Watch out for 1988.”

He chuckled again. Castiel squinted at the young man, as if that would help to pry the truth from him.

“Yeah, annoying isn’t it?” asked Dean, noticing his expression. “When someone knows something about your future, but won’t tell you.”

Castiel was not very good at recognizing subtle hints, but even he could not fail to notice that.

“Dean…”

The hunter sighed.

“I know, I know; you don’t want to screw with my timeline too much, foreknowledge is dangerous, yada yada yada. Whatever. Doesn’t mean that you can’t have a taste of your own medicine.”

“But neither of us is sick.”

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“We’re going to have to work on those figures of speech, Cas,” he told the angel.

“Maybe you should work on making more sense,” Castiel retorted. Dean laughed.

“Fair enough.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

“How much do you know about me, Dean?” asked Castiel after a few minutes. Dean glanced at him thoughtfully.

“Not as much as I’d like,” he replied. “I know that you’re an angel, I know that you’ve been travelling in time. My time. And I know that we’re family.

Castiel smiled. There was that word again. Family. He’d always had a family, in his brothers and sisters, but what he had with the Winchesters was different, driven less by duty and more by what he was starting to identify as love.

“I spend so much time wondering about you, but when you show up I never know what to ask. You don’t seem to like it, and I try not to give you any reasons to leave earlier than you would anyway.”

Castiel sighed. Dean should not have to spend his life wondering about the angel who had latched onto his timeline.

“”You may ask me anything,” he told Dean. “I will answer you truthfully, or not at all.”

“Okay,” said Dean, a smile beginning to bloom on his face. “What questions won’t you answer?”

Castiel smiled ruefully in return. He should have been expecting that.

“If I think the answer will hurt you, I won’t give it,” he replied. Dean’s eyebrows raised.

“What are you always so afraid of, Cas?” he asked. “What could you possibly do to me?”

Castiel stared at the hunter for a long moment. He looked so much like the Dean that the angel had left, the Dean he feared he was erasing with every moment spent in the past.

“I’m afraid of losing you,” he said at last.

“I’m right here, Cas. You’re the one who always leaves. How could you lose me?”

The angel stopped walking, struggling with his consternation. Dean, no matter what version, deserved answers. But what would those answers do to him? What had Castiel already done? But staring at Dean now, seeing the light of their entwined grace and soul behind his eyes, the angel knew that they had already passed the point of no return. The hunter may as well know how and why.

“Dean, you’ve known me for your entire life,” he began. “But when I met you for the first time, you were 29 years old. And you had no idea who I was.”

“What?” asked Dean incredulously. “That’s impossible. You’re pretty unforgettable.”

Castiel smiled faintly at the compliment.

“Thank you, Dean,” he replied. “But nevertheless, you did not know who I was.”

Castiel vividly remembered the hostility in the hunter’s eyes during their first encounter, remembered the knife plunged viciously into his chest. He supposed now that he should not have made such a threatening entrance, should not have rendered Bobby Singer unconscious, but it had seemed the most efficient way to talk to Dean privately. He had not accounted for the fact that seeming to harm Dean’s family was one of the quickest ways to incur his wrath.

“But what does that mean?” asked the seventeen year old Dean uncertainly, staring at his angel. “Is something going to happen to me between now and then; am I just going to forget you?”

“I don’t think so,” said Castiel slowly. “Time is fluid. I think that I am changing it by being here.”

“That’s why you’re always so worried about screwing up my life,” said Dean, understanding beginning to dawn in his eyes. “You’re worried about future me, the one who didn’t know you.”

“Yes,” said Castiel with a sigh. “It is always dangerous to meddle with time, and when it’s you and Sam at risk…”

“Sammy?” said Dean, concern for his brother flashing across his face. “What’s wrong with Sam?”

“Nothing,” Castiel assured him hastily. He desperately hoped that he was telling the truth. He blinked away the memory of Sam collapsing dead to the floor, a pipe thrust through his abdomen. “Sam is fine. But my first version of him did not know me either, and it is his past that I am changing as well.”

“Oh,” said Dean, relaxing slightly. He paused thoughtfully for a long moment before finally speaking. “Look, Cas. I can’t say that I’m not a little…weirded out by the fact that some version of me and Sammy might be ceasing to exist, but I do know that if they didn’t grow up with you around, then we don’t want to be them.”

“Dean-”

“No, Cas!” interrupted Dean forcefully. “You’ve made our lives better, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose _you_ , just because you’re worried about changing me. Because you have changed me, Cas, and there’s no going back from it. I don’t want to go back.”

Castiel could not prevent the surge of warmth that rushed through him at Dean’s words. Dean smiled, and Castiel realized that the piece of his grace had flared up again in response.

“See?” said Dean, tapping his chest. “I definitely wouldn’t want to miss this.”

Castiel smiled. He still was not sure whether or not he should be ashamed of how he felt about Dean, of how much he was interfering with the hunter’s timeline. But he realized that either way, it made no difference.  Castiel was not strong enough to change anything.

Dean’s smile widened when he saw the acquiescence in the angel’s eyes.

“So are we done with the deep stuff?” he asked hopefully.

“I suppose so.”

“Good, because I have more questions,” said Dean, setting off down the beach again.

“Okay,” said Castiel cautiously, starting after Dean.

“I’m still taller than Sammy in the future, right?”

Castiel burst into his first ever fit of laughter.

ooooooooooooooooo

Dean and Castiel spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach. Sometimes they talked, though Castiel tried to avoid the subject of the future as much as possible, and Dean did not pry. The rest of the time they simply spent enjoying each other’s company. But as the light began to dwindle, Dean insisted that they leave.

“What’s wrong?” asked Castiel as they made their way back to the car.

“Nothing, Cas. But I’m not watching the sunset on the beach with you. No way is my life turning into _that_ much of a chick-flick. Besides, Sam is back at the hotel, and he’ll want to see you too.”

Castiel did not understand Dean’s reluctance to see the sunset, but he did not mind. He would be happy to see Sam as well. It was not until they had reached the impala that the angel paused, reality coming back to him in an ugly rush.

“Dean,” he said softly. The tone of his voice must have alarmed the hunter, because this time it was he who asked what was wrong.

“I can’t return to your hotel with you,” he said reluctantly.

“What? Why not?” asked Dean, the hurt evident in his voice.

“Regardless of what I have or have not changed, I still need to return to the future.”

“But why?” Dean’s voice was almost angry as he grabbed the angel’s sleeve. “Just get there the normal way. _Live_ the years between now and then, instead of just popping in and out of them.”

“I _can’t_ , Dean,” said Castiel helplessly.

“ _Why?_ ”

There were so many reasons why, so much that would happen in the thirteen years until the future. The apocalypse, Michael, Lucifer…Castiel had enjoyed pretending so much that he had nearly forgotten about the future that he had given up so much to protect. If he stayed, tried to alter things, the archangels would find another way to bring about the end of days. One of the first steps of that way would probably be killing Castiel, and then who would protect the Winchesters? Besides, if there was any chance that the original Sam and Dean were still out there in the future, needing him…he had to help them if he could. There was also the fact that this version of Dean was only seventeen years old. Despite what the hunter may have thought he wanted at the moment, Castiel still did not feel right about taking his choices away. He was still essentially a child.

“I just can’t,” he told Dean. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry, you will see me again.”

“No, Cas, wait!” he heard Dean shout, but he had already let himself slip back into the timestream.

He barely even registered the pain of the trip this time. He just clung obstinately to Dean’s familiar timeline, dropping back into reality when he needed a rest.

“Cas?”

The angel could not help but feel the smallest twinge of relief when he recognized the voice. Relief because it did not belong to Dean, and that meant uncomplicated.

“Sam,” he greeted, raising his gaze to meet that of the youngest Winchester. They were in a dark room, but Castiel could tell that the boy was the oldest the angel had seen him aside from in the present, perhaps about fourteen or fifteen.

“Hey,” his friend said quietly, a weary smile flashing across his face. “Sit; you look tired.”

“So do you,” said Castiel, examining the young man more closely. “What’s wrong?”

Sam sighed, jerking a thumb towards the bed behind him. Castiel had not realized that it was occupied, but when he caught sight of the familiar profile, dread hit him in the pit of his stomach.

“Dean!” he said urgently, rushing forward.

“No, Cas, it’s okay,” said Sam hurriedly, grasping the angel’s shoulder to hold him back. “Dean’s fine, he’s gonna be fine. He’s got a concussion, that’s all. He’s resting.”

Castiel sat back, relieved. He was still not happy about Dean’s condition, but he trusted Sam when he said that he would be alright. Sam released the angel’s shoulder, sinking down onto his own bed and rubbing at his eyes.

“I have to wake him up every two hours to make sure he doesn’t fall into a coma,” the young hunter explained. “I don’t suppose there’s anything you could do?”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” said Castiel sincerely, sitting next to Sam. “Last time I healed Dean, it nearly killed me, and it caused…complications. I would try, of course, if he were in life-threatening danger, but with a simple concussion…”

“I understand,” said Sam quickly. “It’s fine, I’ve dealt with his concussions before. I know you’d help if you could.”

“What happened?” Castiel asked. “Were you two on a hunt?”

“Yeah, with our dad. Black dog. It threw Dean against a tree before Dad could shoot it. Fortunately, my brother has always had a thick skull.”

“And where is your father now?” asked the angel, ignoring what he assumed was Sam’s attempt at humor.

“Cleaning up. He has to deal with the body of course, but there were also a couple of park rangers nearby who heard the commotion and came running. The black dog was dead by the time they got there, but Dad still has to smooth things over. He should be back by morning, at the latest.”

The explanation seemed reasonable enough, but something in Sam’s voice suggested that something was wrong. Castiel peered at his friend more closely, trying to discern the problem. He was still not very good at reading human emotions, but this was one that he had seen on Sam’s face many times before. Fortunately, it was rarely directed at the angel.

“You’re angry at him,” stated Castiel. Sam sighed, running his fingers through his hair distractedly.

“I don’t know; I guess so,” he replied. “I mean, I know that what he’s doing has to be done, but I just wish that he would at least pretend to put us before the job sometimes.”

“Perhaps he knew that Dean would be safe with you,” suggested Castiel, trying to put aside his own anger towards John Winchester. Sam would not have many more years with his father. He should not be spending the few remaining ones in hatred. Besides, the angel knew that when the time came, and Dean’s life was hanging in the balance, John would put his family before the job that had consumed his life.

“Maybe,” said Sam reluctantly, though Castiel thought that he detected a hint of pride on the young man’s face. Then his mouth opened in a yawn, and he stretched his arms above his head. Castiel smiled at his friend, but then froze when he caught a glimpse of red under the edge of the jacket that Sam was wearing.

“What is that?” he asked sharply, reaching for Sam’s jacket.

“It’s nothing, Cas, I-”

But the angel ignored him, pulling aside the fabric and gritting his teeth at what he found.

“You’re injured,” he stated unnecessarily, staring at the three crimson slashes in Sam’s side.

“Like I said, Cas, it’s nothing,” said Sam, trying to pull away from his friend’s grip. Castiel would not release him, instead tugging open the shredded shirt. The gashes were not deep, but they were ugly and had clearly not been treated. “The black dog just got a good swipe in, that’s all.”

“Why haven’t you taken care of these?” the angel asked. “Why hasn’t your _father_ taken care of these?”

He felt like taking back the charitable thoughts that he had been trying to have towards John. The man had left one injured son in the care of the other injured son, not even bothering to attend to Sam.

“He doesn’t know. Dean was hurt worse. I can still take care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, but it doesn’t mean that you don’t also need to be taken care of,” said Castiel, standing and looking around the small room. “Where do you keep your first aid supplies?”

“Cas, I don’t need-”

“Where, Sam?” Castiel’s tone brooked no argument, and Sam seemed to realize this. He sighed, laying down and removing the remains of his shirt.

“Bathroom.”

“You need stitches,” Castiel told his friend once he had returned with the well-stocked first aid kit. While he was not a human doctor, the angel had seen enough battle wounds to know how to handle this one.

“I know,” groaned Sam, throwing an arm over his face. “That’s why I was putting it off.”

Castiel contemplated his friend for a moment, then pressed two fingers gently to the skin beside the deepest cut. He let a small pulse of power seep into the hunter’s body. Sam raised his head, peering down at his torso in surprise.

“Wow, that’s way better,” he said. “What did you do?”

“I merely numbed the area. But that’s all I could do with my powers. I still have to put the stitches in.”

“Great,” said Sam grumpily, settling back again. He was initially silent as Castiel focused intently on his wounds, carefully pulling the torn skin together and securing it shut with thread. After a moment though, he spoke again. “Dean mentioned that he saw you again a few months ago.”

Castiel’s hands paused in their work for a fraction of a second.

“Oh?” he said questioningly, not sure how he felt about that, not sure how he was supposed to feel about that.

“Yeah. Said you showed up behind a movie theater looking like you’d lost a fight with a train.”

“I’ve never engaged in combat with a train,” Castiel told his friend. “And I was certainly never defeated by one. I was simply weakened by my travels through time. I have since learned to how to prevent such injury to myself. Did…did your brother say anything else about our encounter?”

“Just that you were more freaked out than usual. Is everything alright with you?”

“I’m fine, Sam,” said Castiel with a small smile, touched by his friend’s concern. Perhaps this meant that Dean was not angry with him for his hasty departure that evening.

Castiel clipped the thread on the final stitch, smearing each cut with an antibiotic cream before taping a bandage over them firmly. He reached into the duffel bag at the foot of the bed, extracting a clean shirt and handing it to Sam.

“That feels a lot better,” said Sam, sitting up and smiling gratefully at the angel. “Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel replied, standing up and returning the first aid kit to its place in the bathroom. “You should rest,” he said when he returned.

“I’m fine,” said Sam, shaking his head vigorously. “I need to look after Dean.”

“I can do that. I will make sure that he does not fall into a coma, just like you said,” the angel told the young hunter. “But how will Dean feel when he wakes up and finds that you’ve mistreated yourself unnecessarily for his sake? Sleep, Sam. I will watch over you both.”

Castiel knew that it was a sign of Sam’s trust in him that the young hunter lay back again, glancing over at his sleeping brother before closing his own eyes.

“Thanks,” he muttered again, pulling the covers over his small body.

“My pleasure,” said the angel softly as he touched two fingers to Sam’s forehead, sending him into a restorative, dreamless sleep. He had never before understood that phrase, but he found that he truly did enjoy taking care of his family.

He spent the rest of the night keeping a watchful guard over the sleeping Winchesters. Sam had said to wake Dean up every two hours to check for a coma, but there was no need. Even with his weakened powers, he could monitor Dean’s condition, especially with their new connection. The hunter’s sleep, though deep, did not stray into the dangerous territory of a coma. Both boys were still slumbering soundly as the sun rose, and the familiar sound of the impala’s engine drifted through the silence of the morning, announcing the return of the eldest Winchester.

Castiel went to Sam’s side and shook him gently awake, knowing that John would be upset if he returned to find his youngest son sleeping when he had been tasked with watching Dean. He smiled as he watched his friend’s hazel eyes blinking open, falling back into the timestream when he heard the sound of a key scraping in the lock of the motel room.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing that Castiel heard was the sound of screaming. He pulled out his angel blade, looking around in alarm that quickly turned into confusion. He was on a dark street, neat rows of houses on both sides, and there were clusters of shrieking children dashing about everywhere. The kids were dressed in bizarre and diverse clothing, some in garish masks and others outfitted to look like police officers or firemen. A few looked like victims of the Croatoan virus, though Castiel believed most people referred to them as zombies. The children would run up to the doors of the houses, receive candy, and hurry away to a new house.

Castiel stared at the scene bemusedly for a few long moments before he finally realized what was happening. It must have been Halloween night.

The angel was rather unfamiliar with the holiday. He remembered that it had been just a few days after Halloween that he had first met Sam, when the angels had tasked the Winchesters with preventing the raising of Samhain. Dean had seemed more enthusiastic about the festivities than his brother, probably because it gave him an excuse to consume copious amounts of sweets.

“What are you supposed to be?” asked a voice from behind Castiel. The angel turned to see a young girl wearing a black dress and a tall, pointed hat standing before him, clutching an orange bucket in the shape of a pumpkin.

“Um, an angel, I suppose,” he answered absentmindedly, wondering why exactly she had decided to paint her face green.

“You don’t look like an angel,” the girl said matter-of-factly.

“Oh?” Could this girl have been exposed to other angels besides Castiel? It seemed unlikely, but it was still a troubling possibility. “Then what do angels look like?”

“They wear white, and they have fluffy wings and halos,” the girl stated, as if that should have been obvious.

Well, that was one concern alleviated. It was clear that this girl had never encountered any other true angels. Castiel held back an amused grin, trying to imagine his brothers and sisters as this girl had described. It was nice that this child still had an innocent and hopeful idea of angels. He decided not to try to correct her.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, giving her a kind smile. “Those angels sound nice.”

The girl nodded and ran off, joining a group of other small children and their parents. Castiel watched her thoughtfully for another moment, wishing that her trust in angels were not so misplaced, and hoping that she would never have to find out what those fabled celestial beings were truly like.

“Not the cool angels,” said a new voice. Castiel did not have to look around to know that Dean Winchester was behind him. But he turned anyway, wondering what his friend had decided to dress up as on this bizarre evening.

He blinked. The boy was wearing a faded black suit and a tan trench coat, both of which were about three sizes too big for him. He had a checkered blue tie around his neck, and battered sneakers peeked out from the legs of his pants. Though there were many differences in their attires, it was obvious to Castiel that Dean had dressed up as him.

Suddenly, something that an older Dean had said before made sense to Castiel.

 _“Just like old times, isn’t it?”_ Dean had asked when Castiel had given him his coat on the beach. He must have been referring to this night. Castiel shook his head, amused. At least now he knew what year it was. 1988.

“What?” he asked, remembering that Dean had been speaking.

“The cool angels aren’t fluffy-winged sissies like that girl was describing,” said Dean earnestly, staring up at Castiel. “They wear trench coats and carry awesome swords and don’t know how to put their tie on right.” He reached out and tugged on the end of Castiel’s tie affectionately. “Basically, they’re you. And me, just for today.”

Castiel smiled, feeling overwhelmingly pleased that Dean thought so highly of him, especially since the boy could not have known him for very long. But then he tilted his head in confusion, glancing down at himself.

“What’s wrong with my tie?” he asked, concerned. Dean laughed.

“Nothing, Cas,” he assured. “I like it. Now come on; we’ve got some candy to collect.”

He took the angel by the sleeve, tugging him down the street towards the first house.

“Where is Sam?” Castiel asked as they walked. It was not like Dean to leave his brother out of festivities like this. Dean rolled his eyes, his face taking on a grumpy expression.

“Dad wouldn’t let him come with me,” he said, irritated. “He said Sammy was too young. I think that’s stupid, because even babies go trick-or-treating with their parents, but Dad didn’t feel like coming and he said that Sam needed ‘adult supervision’.” He made finger-quotes in the air on the last two words. “Like I can’t take care of him.”

Dean scuffed his foot in the dirt, his face falling suddenly.

“I guess he’s right not to trust me with Sammy,” he muttered. “I almost got him killed a month ago.”

“What?” asked Castiel in alarm, stopping abruptly. Dean stopped too, but he would not look at the angel. Castiel hated the sadness and guilt he saw in the young face. “Dean, I’m sure whatever happened wasn’t your fault.”

Of course, he had no way of knowing that for sure, but he did know that Dean loved his brother unconditionally, and would never deliberately allow him to come to harm.

“Yes, it was!” said Dean fiercely, meeting Castiel’s gaze. “I left him alone after Dad told me not to. I knew he was working a case, and that there were monsters around, but I just went to the arcade anyway, and when I got back, the monster was…” He trailed off, apparently lost in the traumatic memory. Then he shook himself out of it. “Sammy almost died. Because of me.”

“Dean, you couldn’t have known that Sam would be attacked,” said Castiel. He suspected that his attempts to alleviate Dean’s guilt would be useless. If this boy was anything like his older self, he would be stubborn in blaming himself for everything.

“I should’ve known,” Dean insisted.

Castiel sighed, deciding not to pursue the topic further. It would only make Dean more upset, and the angel did not want him to be sad on a holiday that he seemed to enjoy so much.

“Well, perhaps you can make it up to him by bringing him some candy,” he suggested. Dean brightened.

“That’s what I told him,” he said. “I was gonna stay home with him, but he said that one of us had to go out there to get the goods. Besides, he had helped me with my costume, and he wanted me to get the chance to wear it.”

“It’s a very nice costume,” said Castiel, suddenly feeling oddly shy. Dean grinned bashfully, picking at one of his oversized sleeves.

“Yeah. I was hoping that you would come to see it. I haven’t really told Sammy about you yet, so he thinks I’m dressed as a businessman. He thought it was funny, imagining me as one of those Wall Street mooks.”

“It doesn’t seem like the position would suit you,” Castiel agreed.

Zachariah had once wiped the memories of Sam and Dean, placing them in a haunted office building and making Sam an office worker and Dean an ordinary businessman. It had been before Castiel truly got to know the Winchesters, but even then it had felt odd and strangely wrong to see them, especially Dean, like that. It was part of why Castiel had stayed close by, keeping an eye on the brothers, even though Zachariah had told him to “back off from his project.” He had been pleased when the Winchesters had completed their hunt successfully. And he could not deny that it had given him a surge of satisfaction to watch Sam quit his ridiculous job by smashing his phone to pieces.

“Yeah. No way am I ever going to end up behind a desk,” said Dean, interrupting the angel’s reflections. He grabbed Castiel’s sleeve, tugging him into motion again. “Come on! We’ve got a lot of houses to get to.”

Castiel spent the rest of the evening going from door to door with Dean. People admired their “matching costumes”, one elderly woman even offering to take a picture of the two of them together. She instructed Castiel to stand beside Dean, who put an arm around the angel’s waist. Castiel put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, waiting for the flash that he believed meant that a picture had been taken successfully. A moment later, the woman pressed a black square of paper into his hand, and Castiel watched in fascination as his and Dean’s images slowly appeared. He had only had his picture taken on one other occasion, the evening before he had accompanied the Winchesters and Harvelles on an ill-fated attempt on the devil’s life, but Dean had burned the resulting photograph out of grief for Ellen and Jo, so Castiel had never seen it. Though this body was a vessel, Jimmy Novak’s spirit had been in heaven since Castiel had been killed by the archangel guarding Chuck Shirley. By this point, Castiel was so comfortable in his body that it felt like his own. It was strange to see himself captured on paper.

“You’re supposed to smile in pictures, Cas,” said Dean, chuckling when he peered at the picture in his friend’s hand. Sure enough, Dean was grinning widely, as he had been for most of the night, while Castiel wore his usual calm expression.

“Oh. Why?” He had thought that the purpose of photographs was to capture a moment. If he was not smiling in the moment, why should he be smiling in the picture?

“I don’t know,” Dean replied, suddenly sounding almost as confused as Castiel. “It’s just what you do. I guess so that it’s a happy memory when you look at it later.”

“I don’t need a picture of myself smiling for this to be a happy memory, Dean,” said Castiel. The boy grinned.

“Me neither.”

Castiel tucked the photograph into an inside pocket of his trench coat, waited for Dean to collect his handful of candy, and then moved on with his friend, thanking the woman as they left.

They continued hunting for candy, Dean refusing to be satisfied until he had collected enough peanut butter cups, which were apparently Sam’s favorite. But eventually Dean decided that he had amassed a large enough horde of sweets for his brother and himself, and he led Castiel towards the motel in which his family was staying.

“So what do you think, Cas?” the boy asked as they walked.

“About what?”

“Halloween! Did you like it?”

“Oh.”

Castiel pondered the question. He still did not truly understand the purpose of the holiday, or why all of the adults felt compelled to give out candy. But he could not deny the fact that he had enjoyed the evening immensely. Spending time with Dean when he was this young was so much simpler than when he was seventeen. It meant that the angel could relax and simply enjoy the time with his friend without having to sort through his unfamiliar and tangled emotions. Besides, it had been satisfying to see Dean light up whenever he received a compliment on his costume or a particularly large handful of candy from some of the more generous adults.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel replied at last. “I did like it.”

Dean beamed up at him.

“You should come next year too!” he said excitedly. “Maybe Sammy will be allowed to come next time, and he can meet you.”

“I’d like that, Dean,” said Castiel. “But I can’t promise it. I have no control over when I land.” Seeing Dean’s face start to fall, the angel hastened to add, “but I assure you, I will see you and your brother again, don’t worry.”

Dean’s smile returned, though there was a slight sadness about it now.

“Ok, Cas,” he said. He paused for a moment, then looked up at the angel rather timidly. “Don’t you get tired?”

“Of what?”

“Of always moving around, always leaving.”

“Isn’t that what you and your family do?”

“Yeah. And I’m tired of it.”

Castiel paused, sighing. He decided to answer Dean honestly.

“I’m getting tired of it too.”

ooooooooooooo

Tired of it or not, Castiel still continued to travel stubbornly. As much as he loved spending time with the young Winchesters, he could never forget the men that they would grow to be, the ones that Castiel had grown to care for in the first place. The ones that could be dying, or possessed, or…gone.

So Castiel kept moving forward, or backward, as the case often was. He bounced around Dean’s timeline, learning more about Dean, Sam, and humanity itself than he had ever expected to. Sometimes the lessons were painful, sometimes humorous, occasionally disastrous, and always valuable.

Though he still had no control over when he landed, Castiel found that most of his visits were concentrated in the years before Dean turned sixteen, as if part of the angel’s subconscious knew that interacting with an older Dean was more complicated and painful for both of them, and was trying to avoid it.

Until that night.

When he landed in a dark and empty public park, Castiel could instantly sense that something was different, and not in a good way. He felt…desolate, empty. He was not sure why, until he realized that the feelings were not his own, but Dean’s, transmitting through their connection. The angel looked around in concern, anxious for some sign of Dean.

Eventually he spotted the boy, who was really more of a young man at this point, slumped against the base of the tree. Stomach dropping, Castiel ran towards Dean, not breathing until he saw that the teenager was conscious, and there was no blood, no sign of injury at all.

“Dean?” Castiel asked cautiously, kneeling beside the teen. Dean did not look at him, but reached out a hand to grasp the edge of his coat, as if making sure that it was real.

“Cas,” he acknowledged, pulling in a shuddering breath. “Nice of you to stop by.”

“Are you alright?” Castiel could detect no sign of external injury, but something was clearly wrong. Dean laughed bitterly.

“Oh, I am _great_ ,” he mumbled. “Look at me. I’m living the high life.”

Castiel studied him more closely. He took in Dean’s disheveled appearance, his flushed cheeks, his unfocused eyes. He saw the flash of what looked like an empty beer can lying in the grass a few feet away.

“You’re inebriated,” he finally deduced. Dean rolled his eyes.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he said scornfully. “And actual humans call it being drunk.”

Castiel sat back on his heels, unsure how to handle the situation. This was the oldest that he had seen Dean. He appeared to be a few months older than when Castiel had watched over him to make sure that he recovered from his concussion, which probably meant that his last exchange with the angel had been the one behind the movie theater.

“You’re upset,” he said at last, hoping to collect more information on the problem.

“Just a little.” By this time, Castiel could recognize the sarcasm.

“May I ask why?” he persisted patiently. Dean was silent for a moment.

“Everyone always leaves me,” he muttered finally.

Castiel sighed, bowing his head. So this was his fault. He should have known. Should have realized the emotional toll that his constant disappearances would take on Dean. Not to mention the fact that the last time Dean remembered encountering him, Castiel had acted horrified at the thought of staying, and had vanished without a word of explanation.

“Dean,” he said softly, placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder. Dean tensed at the contact, but he did not pull away. “I’m sorry. The last time you saw me, I was…confused. Disoriented. I left because I didn’t know what to do, and I was afraid of what I had done to you.”

He paused, studying Dean carefully. Those green eyes were still stubbornly fixed on the ground, but he did seem to be listening.

“But Dean, every other memory of me that you have, aside from that day behind the Elwood County Elementary School, was after that for me. You must know how much you mean to me. I never leave because I want to, I leave because I’m trying to help you.”

After a long moment, Dean sighed.

“Yeah, I know, Cas,” he said heavily. “I do. Doesn’t make it easier to see you go. But it’s not just you.”

“Then what?” Castiel sat down all the way, ignoring the dampness of the earth beneath them.

“Dad, mostly. I mean, I do everything he asks me to, I follow his orders to the letter, and he still ditches me for hunts that he knows full well I can handle.”

“He’s probably just trying to keep you safe,” Castiel suggested. Dean shook his head impatiently.

“Whatever. I’m used to it. He doesn’t want me around? Fine. I’ll prove myself to him eventually. It’s just, recently Sam’s been pulling away too. And I know that it’s probably just because he’s getting older, but still…I mean, what am I without my family, Cas?”

Castiel sighed. He wrapped one arm around Dean, warming his grace so that the young man would feel the corresponding comfort in his soul. He suspected that in different circumstances, Dean would have shrugged off the embrace, but the alcohol had made him less reluctant to accept solace.

“You are extraordinary, Dean,” he said firmly. “And I am better qualified to make that statement than most.”

Dean snorted, but did not challenge the angel. Castiel could tell that he was still unconvinced though. Dean was twisting his fingers angrily in the grass just as he had all those years ago behind his school.

“All human beings are works of art,” Castiel continued. “Treasures. But despite that, many of them are small. They pass through their entire lives on earth without leaving a single mark behind them. But you, Dean Winchester, are different. You are great. You touch so many lives, both knowingly and unknowingly, and you leave them better for it. You are good and brave and selfless to your core. You have devoted your life to eradicating evil, and you still do not think that you mean anything?”

“If I’m so great, why do people keep leaving?”

Castiel sighed again, guilt twisting in his stomach. He knew that he was not the only one leaving Dean, but he was certainly the one that vanished most regularly. He had not had the strength to stay away from Dean entirely, but he was too cowardly to be there for him consistently.

“Perhaps because the rest of us are not as great as you,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Dean actually laughed at that, a bitter, despairing laugh.

“You honestly think I’m better than you or Sam or Dad?” he asked harshly. “Did you start smoking crack while you were away?”

Castiel leaned his head back until it was resting against the tree behind them. He pinched his eyes shut. How was he supposed to fix this? How was he supposed to repair the damage that he had done to Dean, that Dean had done to himself?

He did not realize that he had been praying until he was disappointed by the lack of response. Then he felt like he should be the one laughing at his own foolishness. He should have known better by now.

“I may have been the hero of your childhood, Dean, but perhaps I did not deserve the status,” he said at last, eyes still closed. “You have made me better, but I doubt that I’m all that you think I am.”

“Don’t say that, Cas.”

“It’s true, Dean,” Castiel insisted. “I may be an angel, but I’m still a fallible creature. I have done the best that I could, but I have still made mistakes, some of them costly.”

“That doesn’t make you worthless.”

“Exactly. Dean, the only difference between us in this regard is that you are the one that taught me to be better, to decide for myself what the right thing was, whereas I have taught you nothing.”

“Damn,” Dean muttered, dropping his head onto Castiel’s chest. “You’re too smart for me to argue with when I’m drunk.”

Castiel opened his eyes with a smile that was only slightly pained.

“If alcohol is what it takes for me to win an argument with you, I’m going to start carrying it around with me,” he threatened teasingly. Dean chuckled.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been for the rest of their conversation, “but it would seriously just make you that much cooler in my book if you had free booze with you all the time.”

Castiel relaxed. He could tell that the storm was over. Perhaps he had not fixed the problem of Dean’s lack self-worth, but hopefully he had helped it in the right direction. At least the teenager was willing to move on.

“Perhaps I’ll just have to come up with some other alternative for winning arguments,” the angel said. “Maybe I’ll just bring Sam with me. You don’t stand a chance against both of us.”

“That’s not fair,” Dean protested. “He’ll use those damned puppy eyes of his, and you know I can’t say no to those.”

“Then I will definitely bring Sam next time.”

Dean groaned. The two of them fell silent for a moment.

“Hey, what do you mean you never taught me anything?” asked Dean abruptly. “You taught me how to make people feel awkward in thirty seconds or less.”

“What do you mean?” asked Castiel in confusion. “How do I make people awkward?”

Dean just chuckled again.

“Don’t worry about it, Cas,” he said. “I like it. It’s endearing.”

“You said the same thing about my tie,” Castiel complained.

“When?” Dean asked, tilting his head up to look at Castiel. “Halloween?”

The angel nodded, and Dean grinned. He reached out to grasp the tie in question.

“Hey, I was proud of that costume,” he said. “I had to go to like three different thrift shops to get all of the stuff.” He paused, apparently recollecting the evening that had been so long ago for him. “You know, to me, you were always this superhero,” he continued eventually. “You took care of me and Sammy, you could fix anything, do anything…when you weren’t coughing up your own blood. I wanted to be like you when I grew up, minus the blood part.”

“And now?”

“Now…I think I just want to be with you.”

Castiel froze at the honest confession. Dean, seeming to sense his alarm, hurried to backtrack.

“Sorry,” he said, sitting up so that he was no longer resting against the angel. “I shouldn’t have said…I just-”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted. “It’s all right. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I freaked you out.” Dean was studiously looking anywhere but at Castiel.

“No. You startled me. Dean, you have to understand, this is all still new to me. I don’t know how to…I don’t know how this is supposed to work. I don’t know what’s right for you, or how to keep both of us from getting hurt. But despite all that, I think I want to be with you too.”

Dean smiled, a resigned and sad but tender smile. He settled himself back against Castiel’s body.

“But you still won’t stay,” he stated.

And there was nothing that Castiel could say to that. Because Dean was right; he still was not staying. However strong his feelings for Dean were growing, he still could not bring himself to abandon his Winchesters, and the future that needed him, though the argument was beginning to sound tired to him. So he just sat in silence with Dean, deciding that he could at least stay for a few more hours.

“Let me take you home,” said Castiel at last, when he could sense how tired Dean was becoming. “Where are you staying?”

“Doesn’t matter,” mumbled Dean. “No one’s there. Dad’s on a hunt, Sammy’s at his friend’s house.”

Now Castiel understood why Dean had chosen this particular night on which to consume so much alcohol. His feelings of abandonment had been exacerbated by the physical absence of his family. Castiel was suddenly intensely grateful that he had landed when he did, so that Dean did not have to be alone.

“I’ll stay with you,” he promised. “Just tell me where we’re going.”

“Can we just stay here?” Dean asked. Castiel glanced around at their surroundings.

“In the park?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? It’s cold and wet and we’re sitting against a tree. It seems like a motel would be more comfortable.”

“Does any of that stuff bother you?”

“No, but I’m not human.”

“Well, I am, and I want to sleep here.”

Castiel peered down at Dean curiously. He had no idea why the young man felt compelled to forgo the comforts of shelter, but he was willing to go along with it if it would make Dean feel better.

“Very well,” he said, leaning back until he was situated against the trunk of the tree. He felt Dean shift beside him, settling more comfortably against him, his head resting on the angel’s chest.

“’Sides,” Dean mumbled. “If I wake up sore from sleeping on the ground, you can heal me. Oh, does that work for hangovers too? ‘Cause that would be handy.”

“That’s not what I’m here for, Dean.”

“Hey, last time we were together, I scraped your bloody ass off that street outside the movie theater. It’s your turn.”

Castiel decided not to mention the night that he had spent since then making sure that Dean did not fall into a coma after the black dog attack.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said with a long-suffering sigh.

“That’s my hero.”

Castiel smiled.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” he ordered gently.

“Yes sir.”

Dean fell silent, and his breathing began to grow more even. Castiel continued to hold him close, keeping a watchful eye on the park around them. Though it was unlikely that there was anything sinister out there at the moment, Castiel would not let his vigilance slip. Not when it came to Dean.

“No stars.”

Castiel blinked. He had thought that Dean was asleep.

“What?”

“The stars. I can’t see them.”

Castiel glanced skyward. Sure enough, the heavens were obscured by thick masses of grey.

“It’s just cloudy, Dean,” he said gently. Dean sighed heavily, as if the clouds had done him a personal injury.

“I know,” he said sadly. “It’s just…sometimes Mom would take me out to the backyard on clear nights, and we would lie on a picnic blanket and watch the stars. Sammy and I do it sometimes too, except we sit on the car instead of a picnic blanket. It always made me feel better. But last time I suggested we watch the stars, Sam said he had to study for a biology test. I guess I was just hoping to watch the stars again.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked up again. Dean asked for so little, it seemed unfair that he should not get to enjoy the majesty of God’s celestial creations.

The angel focused intently, pinching his fingers together and then spreading them wide in an effort to channel his weakened energy. Castiel broke into a smile as the clouds drifted apart, exposing a circular patch of clear star-studded sky above the two men. Dean tilted his head back, laughing in amazement.

“Just like that, huh?” he said appreciatively. “Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.” Castiel felt Dean’s soul lighten in response to the miniature miracle, and he breathed a sigh of contentment.

“You’re really something, you know that?” said Dean after he had been staring at the sky for a few minutes.

“What?”

“You. You’re just so…sometimes I forget that you’re not human, you know? And then you do something like this, just opening the sky for me because I wanted to see the stars.”

“Was that wrong?” asked Castiel in concern. He had been trying to make Dean feel better, not alienated.

“No, Cas, not at all,” said Dean quickly. “It’s…amazing. _You_ are amazing.”

“I’m just an angel, Dean,” said Castiel softly. “Any angel could do that.”

“Maybe any angel _could_ , but only you _would_. You’ve told me a little about the other angels, Cas. It sounds like you’re more human than any of them. I think you’ve got the best of both, humans and angels. You’re an angel with humanity, and it makes you the most incredible person I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Castiel fell silent as he pondered Dean’s words. An angel with humanity. It sounded far better than “a traitor to his species”. He had always seen himself as a guardian of humanity, had returned to that when his world was turning to poison around him. And now he was the guardian of the Winchesters.

Castiel could feel Dean’s soul growing lighter and more relaxed as he finally drifted towards sleep. Though the angel was not bothered by the cold, he enjoyed the warmth of Dean’s body resting against his. Being careful not to wake him, Castiel leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to Dean’s hair, closing his eyes in contentment as he felt his grace warm within him. Then he tilted his head back to watch the stars that Dean had been so anxious to see. He was sure now that Mary Winchester had been right. He loved Dean, felt for him in a way that he had never imagined possible. That scared him, but it also filled him with excitement and warmth and hope.

Then the angel sighed, wondering how he was going to be able to bring himself to leave Dean the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading! I'm sorry if Dean seemed a bit out of character; I blame it on the alcohol. He was eighteen, by the way.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel maintained his vigil throughout the night, his arm wrapped gently around Dean as he stared at the stars and listened to the sound of Dean’s breathing. He reveled in the peace of it, a peace that he had not known since he had first started to question heaven’s orders. For the first time in months, perhaps years, he felt that he was where he belonged. It was an exceptionally pleasant feeling.

It had been quite some time since Castiel had let himself take a moment to enjoy the beauty of his father’s earth. He listened to the melody of the insects in the trees as he watched the occasional firefly light up. He breathed in the freshness of the air as a breeze ruffled through the leaves. This, too, was what he was fighting to protect. This planet, and its beauty, which would be destroyed if Michael and Lucifer were to have their fight.

He glanced down at Dean, smiling slightly at the thin trail of drool that was sliding down the young man’s chin. There was the true beauty, drool and all. Dean was beautiful to the very core of his being, and Castiel knew that he would fight for him with everything that he had.

Lost in his thoughts, the angel watched as the sun eventually came up and stained the sky with brilliant hues of orange and lavender. The light crawled its way up Dean’s body, and when it finally reached his face, the young man groaned, pinching his eyes against the brightness. Castiel smiled as he watched Dean rub blearily at his face, clearly feeling the effects of his night on the ground and the alcohol he had consumed. But then the hunter froze, and his eyes flew open, focusing on the angel who was still holding him.

“Cas?” he said softly, the name laced with an emotion that the angel could not identify.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel greeted, making sure to keep his voice low so as not to aggravate the headache that Dean was most likely suffering from.

“You’re still here.”

“I told you I would stay.”

“I know.” Dean reached up a hand to touch Castiel’s cheek gently, a smile dawning on his face as his fingers confirmed that his angel truly was still there with him. “I guess I just didn’t want to let myself believe it.”

Castiel sighed, leaning into Dean’s touch. He gave the hunter a solemn smile.

“I won’t break my promises to you, Dean,” he assured. “And I will always stay when you need me.”

Dean’s smile grew brighter, with a warmth and tenderness that Castiel was not used to seeing there. Dean once again settled his head contentedly on his angel’s chest, but then he groaned again.

“Hey, Cas?” he muttered plaintively. “About that hangover cure we discussed…”

Castiel smiled indulgently, pressing two fingers to Dean’s temple and closing his eyes in concentration. Healing was usually a simple task for him, but it had become more difficult with the loss of his powers. It was why Bobby Singer was still in a wheelchair, and why Castiel was terrified that he would not be able to save Sam if he was dying in the future. But a hangover he could manage. He let a pulse of energy seep into Dean, purging the hunter’s body of the aftereffects of the alcohol.

Dean sighed in relief, his eyes blinking open again. He sat up and stretched his arms above his head.

“Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome.”

The angel stood, brushing the grass and dew from his coat. He offered a hand to Dean, pulling the young man to his feet. Dean promptly collapsed again, and Castiel caught him quickly.

“Dean?” he said, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Cas,” said Dean, a flush creeping into his cheeks. “I just, uh…You may have been right about sleeping on the ground. My legs are numb.”

“Oh.”

Castiel did not bother to gloat as he patiently held Dean upright while they waited for the blood to flow back into the hunter’s legs. Eventually, Dean was able to take a few steps on his own, growing steadier with each one. He turned, walking back to Castiel and taking his hand.

“Come on,” he said firmly. “You’re taking me to breakfast.”

Castiel had already lingered longer than he should have, but he allowed Dean to pull him along anyway. Something had changed between them; some connection had fallen into place. Their relationship had the same easy quality as it did when Dean was young, but it had also taken on the deeper element that Castiel believed was normally associated with romance, the element that they had first begun to explore on that beach in Cape Disappointment. It felt good, and right, and Castiel did not want to let it go yet.

So he followed Dean on a short walk to a diner, which was tucked between a bank and a shoe store. A bell on the door rang as they entered, and a waitress brought the two of them menus as they slid into a booth along the wall. Dean grinned at the angel across from him.

“Have you ever had pancakes, Cas?” he asked. “I mean really good, fresh-off-the-griddle diner pancakes?”

“Uh, no.”

“What about bacon?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Chocolate milk?”

Another shake of the head.

“Then today is the day we fix that.”

“Dean, the last time I ate something that you recommended, it was not a pleasant experience for me.”

Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Are you talking about the licorice?” he asked incredulously. Castiel nodded, suppressing a shudder. Dean laughed. “Dude, that was years ago! Don’t you think it’s time you gave me another chance?”

Castiel looked at him dubiously. He knew that he could eat, and knew that his vessel had fond memories of his favorite dishes or meals. And he had consumed beverages before, in the form of beer and shots, and had not minded the taste. Perhaps not all food was as abhorrent as the candy that Dean had persuaded him to try.

“Fine,” he conceded. “One more chance.”

Dean beamed at him, hurrying to order their food when the waitress came back. He handed the woman both of their menus, then slid his hand across the table to rest on top of Castiel’s, and his smile had lost the shyness that had accompanied the gesture up until that point.

“Listen, Cas,” he said, his voice becoming a bit more serious. “Last night is a little hazy for me, but I remember what you said. You know, about me. I needed to hear it. So thank you.”

“Everything I said was true,” Castiel replied earnestly. Dean looked away, his cheeks flushing again.

“Yeah, well, like I said, thanks.” He paused, the redness on his face deepening, before he muttered, “and I meant what I said about you, being incredible.”

It took Castiel a moment to answer, distracted as he was by the rush of happiness that the rare compliment had sent through him. He shifted his hand, lacing his fingers through Dean’s.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “I hope that I continue to live up to your idea of me.”

“I’m sure you will, if you give yourself the chance.”

It was Castiel’s turn to look away, knowing that this was Dean’s way of asking him to stay. He heard Dean sigh, but the hunter did not release his hand.

“It’s okay, Cas,” he said gently, though the angel could hear the disappointment in his voice. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure that you do,” Castiel said softly. He had never really told Dean why it was so important that he keep moving, not wanting to worry him about a painful future that Castiel was trying so hard to prevent. “But I appreciate you trying. And not giving up on me.”

“Now that is something I will never do,” said Dean, his tone light but his words sincere. He squeezed Castiel’s fingers, and the angel met his eyes. “Never. I can handle waiting for you, as long as I know for sure that you’re coming back. Just promise me that I’ll see you again, and that you’ll keep trying to make this work.”

“I promise.” He intended to keep his word.

“Good,” said Dean, visibly relaxing. Then something seemed to occur to him, and he looked wary. “Uh, is there anything you need to warn me about though?”

Castiel froze, wondering how Dean could possibly know about his and Sam’s plight in the future. But then Dean continued.

“I mean, it was pretty rough when I saw you last year and you acted like I had a disease. You didn’t, I don’t know, punch me in the face when I tried to take your hand when I’m twenty, did you?”

“No,” Castiel answered, relaxing. Dean was just worried about getting rejected by a version of Castiel that had not yet experienced this development in their relationship. “This is the oldest I’ve seen you. We are, as I believe you would say ‘on the same page’.”

“Good,” Dean said again. He might have said more, but their food arrived, and he was completely distracted. He pushed Castiel’s plate toward him eagerly. “Here. Try the bacon first. Actually no, the pancakes first. No, wait, try the chocolate milk before you get any other tastes in your mouth.”

Castiel looked down at the food bemusedly. He reached for the cup full of brown liquid, glancing up at Dean for confirmation. When the hunter nodded, he raised the glass to his lips and took a tentative sip. He could feel Dean’s anxious eyes on him as he considered.

It felt strange to him to be drinking and tasting, but the experience was far more pleasant than his encounter with the licorice. The enjoyment was apparently visible on his face, because Dean smiled triumphantly.

“See! I told you that you’d like it,” he said happily. “ _Now_ try the bacon.”

Castiel picked up the fork beside his plate, trying to stab one of the strips of meat. Dean grabbed his wrist, stopping him with a chuckle.

“You pick it up with your hands,” he said. “The fork is for the pancakes.”

“Oh.”

Dean released Castiel’s wrist, and the angel took one of the greasy pieces of bacon between his fingers. He considered it carefully for a moment before biting off a small piece. He chewed for a few moments, and his eyes widened. The chocolate milk had been fine, but this…this was something else entirely. He hurried to take another bite.

Dean laughed.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” he said knowingly. Castiel simply nodded, too busy chewing to reply properly.

The two of them spent another hour in the diner, Dean introducing Castiel to a variety of other foods. Some the angel liked, some he did not, but the bacon remained his favorite. Dean, seeing how much he enjoyed it, gave him the bacon from his own plate as well, smiling indulgently as Castiel wolfed it down.

When they had finally finished their meal and Dean had paid for it, Castiel walked the hunter back to his motel. He could feel Dean’s mood sinking with every step, no doubt realizing that his time with his angel would soon be coming to an end. Castiel said nothing, but he sent a reassuring pulse of energy through their shared bond, and he saw the corners of Dean’s mouth quirk into a smile.

Dean turned to face Castiel once they had reached the motel.

“Thanks for being here, Cas,” he said, taking the angel’s hand.

“It was my pleasure,” Castiel replied sincerely.

Dean smiled. He leaned closer, pressing his lips gently to Castiel’s cheek. He squeezed the angel’s hand and pulled away.

“Bye, Cas,” he muttered, face flushed as he hurried to the door of his room and slipped inside.

The angel stood rooted to the spot, his brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened. Dean had kissed him. It had been on the cheek, but still. He smiled wider than he ever had, warmth and light sweeping through him. He thought he heard Dean chuckling from inside the motel room, no doubt absorbing some of Castiel’s elation through their connected beings.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel murmured several moments later, still stunned by the pleasant tingling sensation that had raced through him at the touch of Dean’s lips.

He was still standing there a few minutes later, when a van pulled up to the motel and Sam Winchester got out of the passenger seat.

Sam looked tired and upset. His head was down as he walked towards the motel, and he did not notice Castiel’s presence until he walked straight into the angel.

“Oh, sorry,” he began dully, but then he looked up, and his face brightened by a fraction. “Cas!”

“Hello Sam,” Castiel greeted. “What’s wrong?”

“That obvious, huh?” Sam asked wryly. He rubbed his hand across his face with a small groan. “I’m fine, Cas. Really. I just had kind of a rough night.”

“I thought you were at a friend’s house. Wasn’t that supposed to be enjoyable?”

“Yeah, it was,” replied Sam with a bitter smile. “I guess they just weren’t my friends.”

“What did they do to you?” If Sam’s ‘friends’ had hurt him…

“They didn’t _do_ anything to me, Cas. They just…made it clear what they thought of me.”

“I see,” said Castiel with a sigh.

He gazed at Sam sadly, and it was not until he heard the word ‘freak’ over and over, and saw the faces of several other boys twisted into cruel smiles, that he realized he had unintentionally delved into Sam’s mind. He usually tried to avoid that invasion of privacy with the Winchesters, but Sam’s thoughts had been so loud that it was hard not to hear them. He had just touched the surface of the boy’s awareness, but it had been enough to see what was bothering him so much.

The angel closed his eyes briefly, holding back another sigh. Those boys had touched a nerve that would always be sensitive for Sam. The young hunter hated being different, hated feeling like a freak, and those boys had clearly known it, and made him suffer for it.

Life was hard enough for Sam; he should not have to put up with boys being cruel to him. But there was nothing Castiel could do about that now, except to offer comfort. He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, wishing that he could provide comfort with a flare of his grace, as he could with Dean.

“If it helps, I think the world of you, Sam.”

Sam gave him a sad but genuine smile, leaning into his side. Castiel wrapped his arms around the boy in what he hoped was a comforting hug.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said softly. “Likewise.”

Castiel held him for a moment longer, but he knew what, or rather who, Sam needed most.

“Dean is inside,” he said, nodding towards the motel door.

Sam pulled away, looking gratefully up at the angel.

“Right. Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye Sam.”

Castiel watched sadly as his friend trudged to the door of the motel room, making sure that Sam was safely inside before slipping back into the now-familiar torrent of time.

ooooooooooooo

When he returned to the physical plane, Castiel was too distracted by the usual disorientation of landing in a new time and place to heed the warning that was sent his way in the form of a car horn. He only had time to register the blinding flash of headlights before he felt his body fold under the impact of a very solid car.

He went flying. He found it to be a far less pleasant experience than when it was under his own volition. He tumbled over the roof of the car, whatever breath he had left leaving him in a rush as he slammed to the unforgiving pavement of the road.

He lay in a daze, feeling sporadic drops of water hitting his face and thinking that he really should get up, but not being able to find the strength to do so. He supposed that he should have been expecting something like this. He had no control over where he landed, and with as much travelling as the Winchesters did, it was only natural that he materialize in front of a speeding car at some point. He was absently aware of the squealing of tires against a wet road, and the sound of an angry male voice shouting at something or someone.

But then he heard the pounding of feet closer to him, and Dean’s face came into view as he knelt beside the angel.

“Cas!” he shouted, sounding panicked. “Cas, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

“Yes of course.” Castiel frowned in annoyance when the words came out more like a very undignified, “unngh.”

“Step back, Dean.” This voice was older and harsher, the one that had been shouting earlier. “I’ve got him.”

Castiel blinked, bringing the rugged face of John Winchester into slightly better focus. He had never really expected to meet the man, but apparently it would happen at least once more, because the next words out of his mouth made it clear that they knew each other.

“Castiel, you were hit by a car.” As if he did not know that. He had watched it happen, remembered it with painful clarity. He just had not been able to stop it, and now he was not able to recover from the injuries as he should have been. “I need you to stay still while I check you out.”

There was not much else he could do. Castiel had known that he was growing weaker, but he had not realized that it had gotten this bad. He could feel his broken bones and bruised flesh, which should have been nearly indestructible and certainly not susceptible to mere automobiles. He supposed that most humans would have been dead after a crash like that, but he was not human, and he did not enjoy being injured like one. He had not felt anything at first, but now waves of pain were beginning to spread through his chest like fire, travelling down to his legs, at least one of which was broken. His breathing sped up and he began to gasp.

“Easy there, Castiel,” said John gruffly. “You’ll be fine. Just try to breathe steadily, it’ll make things easier for both of us.”

That was easy for him to say. He was not the one bleeding on the ground. But then Castiel felt a warm hand slip into his.

“It’s okay, Cas,” said Dean soothingly. He leaned forward so that the angel could see him without moving his head, giving him a reassuring smile though there was fear in his eyes. “I’m here. You’re gonna be okay. My Dad is great with injuries, and you’re one of the toughest people I’ve ever met. You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Castiel grasped his hand tightly, trying to calm his breathing as John pulled his shirt open to examine the damage to his chest. He could not contain his sharp intake of breath as John pressed against an injured rib however, and Dean squeezed his hand. Castiel pulled in a more even breath, drawing strength from the contact with Dean. The piece of his grace that resided in Dean’s chest was still strong, which meant that it was before 1997. Not much before though, if Dean’s face was any indication. He looked to be about sixteen.

Castiel did his best to hold still during the rest of John’s quick examination. He blinked in displeasure when the older hunter shone a flashlight in his eyes, but at least it seemed to conclude the inspection.

“Well, you got dinged up pretty good, no doubt about it,” John said, tucking the flashlight back into his jacket. “But considering the fact that the car that hit you was going at least fifty miles per hour, I’d say you got off pretty easy.”

“How bad is it, Dad?” asked Dean anxiously.

“A few broken ribs, a broken tibia and fibula, and maybe a fractured radius,” John replied. “Not to mention massive bruising, and a possible minor concussion. For anyone else, I’d say a visit to the hospital was in order. For Castiel, he probably just needs a few days of rest. I’m going to have to set that broken leg though.”

“Right,” said Dean, nodding tightly. “You hear that Cas? Like I said, you’ll be fine. We’re gonna take you back to the motel and get you patched up, okay?”

Castiel gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment. The pain had stopped building, but it was still very much there. He had experienced worse injuries in battle, but there had almost always been an angel medic on hand to heal him faster than this when his own system could not handle the damage. He was not looking forward to recovering the slow way.

“Dean, go wake your brother,” John ordered. “I’ll get Castiel into the car.”

Dean glanced at his father, then at the angel. He nodded, giving Castiel’s hand one last squeeze before letting go and walking out of sight.

Castiel looked up at John, and the hunter’s gaze was surprisingly sympathetic.

“I’m going to have to carry you to the car, Castiel,” he said. “And it’s going to hurt. But we can’t just stay out here in the middle of the road, especially in the rain.”

“I understand,” Castiel croaked, the coppery taste of blood rising in his throat.

“Right.” John leaned forward, putting one arm under Castiel’s knees, the other behind his shoulders. “Okay, here we go.”

He lifted Castiel from the ground, and though the angel knew that he was trying to be gentle, he could not prevent the groan of pain that escaped his lips. He could feel every single one of his broken ribs stabbing his insides, and his leg felt like it was about to fall off. But soon they were at the impala, and Castiel caught sight of a wide-eyed and messy-haired Sam, standing behind a worried Dean. The angel tried to give them both a reassuring smile as John lowered him into the backseat that Sam had obviously just vacated.

Castiel let out the breath that he had not realized he had been holding as John finally released him. Though being cramped in the backseat was not exactly comfortable, it was infinitely better than lying on the cold road. He felt Dean slide into the car, sitting on the floor beside his head and grabbing his hand again. Sam got into the front seat, turning around to look back at Castiel in concern.

“You okay, Cas?” he asked anxiously.

“I’ve…been better,” the angel admitted wryly, coughing slightly on the blood that was still caught in his throat. His voice was weaker than he would have liked. “But I’ve also been…worse. I’ll be…fine, Sam.”

“Of course he will,” Dean said to his brother. “I’m gonna take care of him, just like I take care of you when you don’t feel good. And you always get better, right?”

Sam nodded, relaxing slightly with his utter trust in Dean. Castiel smiled, despite the pain of his injuries. He always enjoyed seeing the strength of the bond between the brothers, especially when they were so young.

Then John slid into the driver’s seat, and the car rumbled into motion. It was a mercifully short drive to the nearest motel, each bump jarring Castiel uncomfortably. John left his sons and the angel in the car while he went to obtain a room for them. When he came back, he carried Castiel inside, setting him down on one of the two beds. Dean silently handed his father the first aid kit as Sam carried the rest of the family’s belongings into the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Dean, help me get him out of his coat,” John told his son.

The boy nodded, helping his father peel the damp layers gently from Castiel’s body, wincing every time the angel did. Seeing how upset Dean was and how hard he was trying to hide it, Castiel did his best to hold back any sign of pain, not wanting Dean to feel guilty about hurting him. He suspected that the boy could see through his efforts though.

But finally the angel was free of his coat and suit jacket. John simply used a pair of scissors to cut open the leg of Castiel’s pants. The angel lifted his head slightly to get a glimpse of the damage. It was not as bad as it could have been. The ends of the bone had not penetrated his skin, which hopefully meant that it would heal faster.

“I’m going to set and splint this, Castiel,” said John, after examining the leg for a moment. “As fast as you heal, there’s no point in a cast.”

Castiel nodded, wishing that his fast healing would get a little faster. John rummaged around in the first aid kit, extracting a translucent orange bottle of pills. He poured a dozen of them into Dean’s hands.

“Help Castiel take those,” he instructed.

“ _All_ of them?” Dean asked dubiously.

“All of them,” John confirmed grimly. “Then you and Sammy keep him distracted while I set his leg.”

Castiel was not sure that he liked the implications of that, but Dean nodded, and Sam appeared at his side holding a glass of water. Dean helped the angel sit up while Sam helped him swallow the pills, two at a time. Castiel hated the feeling of helplessness that was threatening to overwhelm him. He was supposed to be the Winchesters’ guardian, not their charge. They should not have to nurse him back to health after a mere automobile accident. He should be stronger than this.

But he was not, so all he could do was lie still while John prepared to set his leg. He felt Dean’s hand slide into his once more, and met the boy’s reassuring gaze as he felt Sam take hold of his other hand. They both seemed to be at a loss for what to do, but then Sam spoke up.

“Hey Cas, did Dean tell you about that time he got kicked out of class for putting a garden snake in his history teacher’s pocket?” he asked.

Castiel had absolutely no idea why Sam had felt the need to share that fact at that particular moment. Then he felt John take hold of his leg gently, and he realized that the boy had been trying to distract him from the tremendous pain that the angel was about to be experiencing. Dean also seemed to realize what his brother was doing, and he hurried to jump in.

“Hey, she was asking for it,” he protested with mock indignation. “She gave me a detention.”

“Yeah and what was that detention for again?”

“I…may or may not have drawn moustaches on all of the posters in her room.”

“With permanent marker,” Sam added.

“Whatever. And it’s not like the snake was poisonous.”

“Yeah, I guess she was luckier than your biology teacher last year.”

“Hey! We agreed never to bring that up.”

“No, you agreed and I said nothing. I can talk about it all I want.”

Sam and Dean continued to go back and forth, their easy banter drawing a small smile from Castiel. It was still not enough to make him oblivious to the wave of agony that tore through his leg and lanced through the rest of his body as John finally moved his broken bones back into their proper places. Though his entire body tensed, and Castiel gritted his teeth so hard that he could hear them creak, he was able to hold back the scream of pain that would have upset the boys.

Castiel pulled in a relieved breath as the pain began to subside, and he refocused on the chatter of the younger Winchesters as John strapped his leg to a splint to hold the bones in place. But the voices sounded like they were getting far away, and Castiel realized that the pain medication that he had been given was starting to take effect. He lost track of the Winchesters and their surroundings, even of the pain in his body as he slipped into a dark haze.

Though he did not completely lose consciousness, Castiel felt himself drifting in and out of awareness, floating in the strange fog of the medication that he had taken. He was surrounded by darkness, flashes of nightmarish images and memories. He saw a battle in heaven, fought over two thousand years ago, but still the worst violence that Castiel had ever experienced. He saw Raphael, his gaze icy and disdainful as the archangel told him that their father was dead. He saw the circle of holy fire, burning high around him as Lucifer studied him like an insect caught in a jar. He saw his sister shoving a rusty pipe through Sam Winchester’s abdomen, saw his friend drop to the ground, dead. He saw Dean giving him a cold, cruel smile, eyes glowing with the power of Michael’s grace, not a memory this time, but a terrifying possibility.

When he was closer to the surface of awareness, Castiel could hear snatches of conversation.

“We can’t just let the bastard get away with this!”

“Dean, it wasn’t exactly his fault. There was no way that driver could have known Castiel was going to appear right in front of him like that.”

“He just drove away, Dad! Cas could’ve been dead for all he knew, and he just ran.”

“I never said he wasn’t a dirtbag, I just said that hitting Castiel wasn’t his fault. Yeah, he should’ve stopped, but he didn’t. What’re you going to do about it? He’s human, Dean, and you know the rules about humans. And it’s not exactly like we can bring the law down on him. They would ask too many questions that we can’t answer.”

“But Dad-”

“Be quiet, both of you.” It was Sam’s voice this time. “You’re bothering Cas.”

The conversation quieted, but Castiel wished that Sam had not said anything. Now there was nothing to distract him from the nightmares.

The next time Castiel surfaced, it was from the horrific image of Dean, his body lying bloody and broken, his eyes vacant and the impressions of massive wings seared into the ground at his sides, Sam who was not Sam smirking down at him as the world burned around them.

It took a moment for Castiel to realize that he was more or less awake, to jar himself from the agonizing scene still playing out in his mind, but then he could hear rough snores from the bed next to his own. Over the steady sound, he could just barely make out the whispers of the two boys, who were sharing the pullout sofa bed in the corner of the room.

“Think he’s gonna be okay?”

“’Course he will, Sammy. You know Cas; it’ll take more than one lousy car to take him out of commission. Besides, his cuts are already starting to close up. I’m sure the rest of him is healing just as fast.”

“You’re still worried, Dean. I can tell.”

There was a sigh in the darkness.

“I’m always worried about him, Sammy.”

“Always? Why? Like you said, he can take on just about anything.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But you still worry.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause, and Castiel was almost pulled back under before Sam’s voice broke the silence again.

“You’re not gonna be able to sleep tonight, are you?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll stay up with you.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Knowing that the Winchesters were there, safe and whole and with him, helped to keep the nightmares at bay as Castiel lost his hold on reality again.

ooooooooooooo

When Castiel finally regained enough control over his body to open his eyes, the room was bright with the light of the morning, or possibly the afternoon. John Winchester was gone, and Sam and Dean were sitting side by side on their father’s bed, watching Castiel. He could tell from the redness of their eyes and the exhaustion in their faces that they had been as good as their word about not sleeping. Both boys brightened when they saw the angel’s eyes open.

“Hey, Cas, how’re ya feeling?” asked Dean, slipping from John’s bed and hurrying to Castiel’s side.

“Much better than yesterday,” Castiel croaked, surprised to find that it was true. The agony of the previous evening had faded into a much more manageable pain.

Dean gave the angel a tired but bright smile.

“That’s great, Cas,” he said.

“I’d like to sit up.”

Dean’s face grew wary, but it was Sam who spoke first.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” the younger boy asked cautiously. “You were hit by a car less than twenty-four hours ago, and you just woke up. You should wait-”

“Please!” Castiel interrupted, his voice harsher than he had intended. “Please. I just…I need to sit up.”

He could not explain, even to himself, why it was so important to him, but he knew that he could not spend one more minute stretched out helplessly on the bed, especially after the seemingly endless nightmares that he had just experienced. He needed to at least sit up helplessly on the bed.

Both Winchesters stared at him in concern for a few moments, before Dean swallowed and nodded.

“Ok, Cas, take it easy,” he said soothingly. He took one of Castiel’s arms, then looked over his shoulder at his brother. “Give me a hand here, Sammy.”

Sam stood and grabbed Castiel’s other arm, and between the three of them they managed to get the angel propped up on several musty pillows. Each of Castiel’s still-mending ribs made themselves known, and pain flared up in his broken leg, but he did not mind. He would have suffered worse pain for the gift of sitting up and being at eye level with the Winchesters. Well, with Sam, but it was close enough.

“Thank you,” Castiel said once he was settled.

“No problem,” said Sam, grinning once he realized that the angel was still doing fine.

“Do you want some more pain meds?” asked Dean.

“No!” Both boys flinched away from the harshness of his tone, and he hastened to soften his voice. “I’m sorry. But no, I don’t want any more pain medication, thank you.”

The boys nodded, both of them looking at the floor in silence. Castiel sighed, realizing that he had frightened them with his vehemence.

“I appreciate you both caring for me,” he told them earnestly. “Truly, I do. But…I don’t think that angels were intended to dream. I would rather endure the physical pain than experience the haze brought on by those pills again.”

“That’s fine, Cas,” said Sam.

“Yeah, we get it,” Dean added, giving Castiel a small smile.

The angel sincerely doubted that the boys truly “got” what the last night had been like for him. They did not have millennia of horrors for their subconscious to draw upon. They did not have the fear of losing their family to wrathful archangels. But Castiel did not begrudge them the little innocence they had left about the horrors of their world. He was grateful for it, and would endeavor to make sure that they could keep it.

“So…” began Dean after a long moment of silence. “I guess this means you’re sticking around for a few days, huh Cas?”

Castiel found himself smiling for the first time that day as he looked at the tentative hope on both boys’ faces.

“Yes, I suppose it does.” Suddenly the idea of being bedridden did not seem quite so odious. It would only be for a few days, but it would allow him to spend time with the Winchesters, while also maintaining a clear conscience. Then another thought occurred to him.

“Where is your father?” he asked.

“He’s out working the job that we came to town for,” Sam answered.

“We think it’s a vengeful spirit,” Dean added. “Should be simple enough, but Dad has to figure out who the spirit is so that he can torch its bones. He probably won’t be back until pretty late.”

“I see. And he trusts me enough to leave you two alone with me?”

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, and Castiel wondered once again what was in their past that he had yet to experience.

“Yeah, Cas,” said Dean slowly. “Dad trusts you with our lives.”

Well, that promised to be interesting later. Perhaps Castiel would be getting to know the eldest Winchester better than he had expected.

“Okay,” he said. “Well, in that case, I’m glad.”

He fell silent, not sure what else to say. He was facing an extended period of time with the Winchesters, and he did not know what to do with it. It was not as if he could take them to the movies again. He could not even stand. Sam apparently shared his consternation.

“So…now what?” the boy asked.

Dean looked at his brother again, a grin lighting up his face. Castiel knew Dean well enough to be terrified of that grin, and apparently Sam did too, because he immediately started shaking his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “Dean, no. I don’t even know what you’re thinking, but you need to stop.”

“Oh, come on, Sammy,” Dean protested. “Have a little faith in me. I know what’ll make Cas feel better.”

“Actually, I think I’m fine,” Castiel said hastily. Dean rolled his eyes.

“You’re such babies,” he told them scornfully. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

He had shrugged on his coat and walked out the door before Sam or Castiel could say one more word to stop him. The remaining boy and the angel looked at each other bemusedly.

“It can’t be… _that_ bad, right?” said Castiel dubiously. “Whatever he’s planning?”

“I would hope not,” said Sam, though he sounded equally dubious. “Maybe he’s just planning on force-feeding you licorice.”

“That would be unpleasant, and would in no way aid my recovery.”

“Agreed. I just really hope he didn’t go to hire you a stripper.”

Castiel stared at Sam in horror.

“Would he do that?” he asked.

Sam chuckled at the look on his face.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” he admitted.

“Nor would I,” the angel muttered darkly. Sam examined him more closely.

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.” It was a statement, but Sam said it like a question.

“Suffice it to say that your brother and I have differing ideas about the enjoyment value of sexual entertainers.”

Sam stared at him. Castiel just grimaced, remembering his disastrous encounter with the prostitute “Chastity” at the brothel that Dean had dragged him to.

“What the hell did he _do_?” Sam asked.

Castiel opened his mouth, about to finally complain about the experience that he had been repressing for months, but then he remembered that Sam was, at most, twelve years old. He did not need to hear about the angel’s exceptionally misguided, not to mention unsuccessful, sexual exploits. He cleared his throat uncomfortably as he remembered the awkwardness of the entire situation that night. At least it had made Dean laugh when he had desperately needed it. That had been worth being shrieked at by Chastity and chased out by two very burly men.

“He wanted to make sure that I experienced certain…ah, things, and it didn’t go exactly as planned,” was all Castiel said. Then he felt compelled to add, “he was considerably older, at the time.”

Sam just kept staring at him, jaw hanging open slightly. Then the boy burst into a fit of giggles.

Castiel smiled at him with bemused affection as Sam plunked down onto the bed beside him, still chuckling. He had quickly found during his travels that he loved making the boys laugh, though he always seemed to do it inadvertently.

“Well, whatever trauma my brother inflicted on you, I doubt he’s planning a repeat performance,” said Sam once he had enough breath to form words. “He’s probably thinking more along the lines of pizza and some crappy horror flicks.”

“That’s comforting,” said Castiel wryly. “We had to run last time, and I don’t think I could manage that at the moment.”

Sam snorted and shook his head.

“One day you’re going to have to tell me that story, Cas.”

“Maybe when you’re older.”

“Whatever. Adults always say that.” Castiel knew Sam well enough by then to be fairly certain that the boy was only pretending to be disgruntled. “Speaking of, how old are you anyway?”

“Old,” Castiel replied solemnly. Sometimes he felt too old.

Sam just rolled his eyes again.

“Fine, don’t tell me.”

“After several thousand years, age just doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Wow,” Sam muttered. “I mean, I guess I’ve always sort of known that you had to be that old, but hearing you say it like that, so casually…you don’t seem that old to me, Cas.”

“I’m actually one of the younger angels,” Castiel told him.

Sam shook his head.

“Like I said, wow.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I feel the same way.”

They both fell silent, sitting together companionably as they waited for Dean to return.


	7. Chapter 7

“I’m glad you’re here, Cas,” said Sam after they had been waiting for several minutes.

“Me too, Sam.”

“No, I mean really.” Sam’s tone was insistent, and he shifted so that he could look at Castiel more directly. “Things have been weird lately. Dean’s been acting different. But he always gets better when you’re around.”

“What’s been wrong with him?” ask Castiel, concerned. Had something happened to Dean that he was not aware of?

“I don’t know, really.” Sam’s voice was quiet and surprisingly sad. “He was gone for a long time, but then he came back. Dad said that he got lost on a hunt, but…I don’t know if I believe it. But anyway, we finally got Dean back, but ever since then he’s been all serious and focused and he and Dad won’t talk about what happened. It’s just so tense around here. I don’t like it.”

“I’m sure that Dean is fine, Sam,” said Castiel firmly, though he was secretly worried. Dean shared everything with his brother, and he would certainly not have abandoned him. What could have caused Dean to be away from Sam for so long, and then to lie about it later?

“Yeah, that’s what he and Dad keep saying,” said Sam, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

Castiel sighed.

“It is my understanding that adolescence changes people,” he offered.

“That’s your theory?” said Sam incredulously, eyebrows raised. “Teen angst?”

Castiel was not sure how to reply, but fortunately his problem was solved by Dean’s reappearance.

The young man pushed his way awkwardly into the room, carrying a box of pizza, as Sam had predicted. He set it down on the bedside table, then opened the plastic bag hanging from his arm to display several rectangular objects that Castiel recognized as video tapes. Dean grinned broadly at Castiel and Sam.

“Tada!” he said proudly. “Pizza and movies; the guaranteed fastest way to feel better.”

Sam peered dubiously into the bag that his brother was holding.

“Better than I was expecting,” he admitted once he had examined the boxes. “I told Cas that you were probably just gonna bring some of those crappy horror movies you’ve been watching lately.”

“Nah, we don’t need horror today,” said Dean, setting the bag down and shrugging out of his coat. “And I’m pretty sure that Cas hasn’t seen any movies besides _Batman Returns_.” He glanced at Castiel for confirmation. The angel nodded. “Which means that he is sadly missing out. We’re going to give him the cinematographic education that he deserves.”

Sam grinned.

“Fine, but I’m picking the first movie,” he said, climbing carefully off of the bed without shifting Castiel. He walked over to the bag of movies and began to rummage through it. He pulled out a box and showed it to Dean, who rolled his eyes.

“ _Apollo 13_ as our opener, Sammy? Really?”

“It’s a good movie, and it has a happy ending,” said Sam defensively, striding over to the television in the room and sliding the black tape into the slot.

“Whatever. We’re watching _Batman Forever_ next though.”

“Deal.”

Dean opened the pizza box and put two slices on paper plates. He handed one to Sam, then glanced at Castiel.

“You still feeling okay, Cas?” he asked. “You want any of this?”

“I’m all right, Dean,” the angel assured him, not feeling it necessary to mention the fact that his leg and ribs were throbbing and he still ached all over. “And no, I think I’ll forgo the pizza today, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” said Dean.

He and Sam clambered onto the bed so that they were all sitting in a row. The television screen had flared to life and was playing the advertisements that preceded the movie. The boys took a few moments to settle down and allocate what they both considered to be a fair amount of ‘elbow room’, but once they had stopped squirming, Castiel could tell by their rapt expressions that they were both looking forward the film.

Castiel had not known what to expect from the movie, but he enjoyed it just as much as his first. He had known that humans had somewhat mastered the science of space travel, but he had never given it much thought. It was not as if astronauts were a threat to the angels. But he found himself caring about the stranded crew in the movie, wishing for their mission to be successful.

“I thought you said this was a happy movie,” said Castiel in alarm as he watched the three astronauts of the wrecked Apollo 13 get more and more sick as their ship crumbled around them and their chances of survival dwindled.

“Sam said it had a happy ending,” Dean told the angel. “No one said anything about a happy middle.”

Castiel frowned, his gaze never wavering from the small television. He hoped that Dean was right. It seemed cruel to let the viewers get attached to characters only to have them die later. Much to the angel’s relief, the movie did indeed end with all three men making it safely back to earth, though Jim Lovell never did fulfill his lifelong dream of walking on the moon. Maybe Castiel would find him and take him there one day, if he ever returned to full strength.

As he had threatened, Dean put _Batman Returns_ into the television next. Castiel enjoyed the chance to see a continuation of the story that he had become engrossed in on one of his earliest visits to the young Winchesters.

Castiel spent the rest of the afternoon and evening continuing his ‘education’ with Sam and Dean. The boys took turns picking the movies, most of which Castiel liked, but some of which made him seriously question Dean’s judgment. But mostly the angel simply enjoyed the casual company of his family.

Sam fell asleep somewhere in the middle of the _Star Wars_ trilogy, leaving Dean and Castiel to watch alone as Luke Skywalker and his friends fought against the stifling control of the corrupt empire. Castiel was fascinated, and believed that he had found his new favorite movies, at least of the ones that he had been subjected to so far. Perhaps he just had a preference for films about space.

The angel glanced over at Dean, who had just yawned for the third time in five minutes.

“You should sleep, Dean,” he prompted gently.

“I’m all right,” the teenager said stubbornly.

“You didn’t get any sleep last night. You’re tired, and you need rest. I’ll be fine while you and your brother sleep,” Castiel insisted. Dean ignored him, staring at the television screen without really watching the movie anymore. Castiel sighed. Well, if Dean was not going to sleep, the angel was going to do whatever else he could to take care of him.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” he asked. The boy glanced over at him, surprised.

“What? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Sam said that you went missing for a few months recently, and that you’ve been acting differently since then.”

Dean glowered down at his little brother for a moment, before he sighed, his face relaxing into a rueful grimace.

“Yeah, I’ve been getting the feeling he was worried about me,” the teenager said softly, his voice tinged with what sounded to Castiel like regret. “And I really am fine, Cas, but I guess…I guess I’m a little different too.”

“What happened to you? Were you hurt?”

Dean chuckled, but the sound was full of a melancholy that Castiel usually associated with a much older version of him.

“No, nothing like that,” he said sincerely. “I just…got a glimpse of something and I had to make some tough decisions.”

“Oh.”

“And…” Dean looked away from the angel, his face reddening inexplicably. “I just worked some things out.”

“I see.”

In truth, he did not see at all. Castiel was still burning with curiosity, but he could tell that Dean did not want to be pressed further. The boy would talk when he was ready, and as long as he was all right, Castiel was willing to wait.

The silence stretched between them for a moment before Dean spoke again.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Dean said sternly, and Castiel grimaced. He should have known that Dean would turn the tables on him. “You said that angels weren’t supposed to dream, and you looked like you were going to throw up when I offered you more pain meds. So what were you dreaming about that was so bad?”

Castiel was silent for a moment, looking down at the peaceful form of Sam sleeping between them. There was nothing that he could do about the memories that plagued him. But he could prevent the nightmares from coming to pass.

“Nothing that you’ll ever need to worry about,” he said with finality.

Michael and Lucifer would never go near the brothers Winchester again. Castiel would not allow it.

“I’ve never seen your face look like that,” Dean whispered. “The way it did when I offered you more pills. You looked…haunted.”

“Haunted is a good word for it,” Castiel replied, his tone just as soft. “I am haunted by the past, and by possibilities of the future.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Castiel gave Dean a small smile. He reached over Sam to rest a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You can stay safe,” he said.

“I’ll try,” said Dean with a wry smile. He covered Castiel’s hand with his own, his face flushing slightly again. Then he suppressed another yawn.

“And you can get some sleep,” Castiel added.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“You’re relentless,” he grumbled.

“Apparently that’s what it takes.”

Dean sighed, but he settled back into the pillows behind him and closed his eyes. Castiel smiled down at him and his brother, appreciating the serenity of the sight. Then he turned his attention back to the television, once more becoming engrossed in the adventures of Luke Skywalker.

“Dean,” Castiel said urgently an hour later, reaching over to shake his friend back into consciousness. “Dean, wake up.”

“What’s wrong, Cas?” Dean mumbled, blinking his eyes open.

“Is Darth Vader really Luke’s father?” the angel asked, his eyes glued to the screen as he watched Luke battle the villain who had just claimed paternity.

“What?”

“Darth Vader, the cruel man with the breathing problems. Is he truly Luke Skywalker’s father?”

Dean chuckled.

“I forgot you didn’t know that was coming,” he said, and Castiel did not understand how he could be so nonchalant about such a tremendous revelation.

“But is it true?” Castiel demanded.

“Yeah, Cas, it’s true.”

Castiel shook his head in disbelief, flinching when Luke got his hand cut off by the man that was apparently his own father. Dean reached over and gave the angel a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“Hang in there, buddy,” he said. “Every Star Wars fan goes through this. You’ll be okay.”

He fell asleep again, leaving Castiel alone with the movies that he had become far too engrossed in. The angel even used some of his limited powers to replace the second movie with the third in the television so that he could watch it without having to stand up, which was something he could not do at the moment. He settled in for another few hours of adventure in a far off galaxy.

The credits were rolling and both boys were still sound asleep by the time Castiel heard a key scraping in the lock on the motel room door. He watched the entrance carefully, relaxing when he recognized John Winchester. The hunter took a cursory glance around the room, a small smile softening his face when he caught sight of his sleeping sons. He nodded to Castiel, then walked inside, carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder.

“Looks like Dean cleaned out the Blockbuster,” John said quietly, glancing at the boxes strewn across the floor in front of the TV.

“He seemed to think that watching movies would be the most pleasant way to spend my recovery,” Castiel replied.

“Yeah, not much else you could do, with a gimp leg like that.”

“I suppose not.”

“How are your injuries?”

“Healing,” said Castiel. He sighed, deciding that he could at least tell John how uncomfortable he still was. “Though I am still in pain.”

John snorted lightly.

“Yeah, that tends to happen when you get hit by a car,” he said, though he did not sound unsympathetic.

“Not to me.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Right, I forgot; the high and mighty angel is so superior to us mere mortals,” he said, his tone significantly cooler than it had been the moment before.

Castiel sighed.

“I didn’t say that,” he murmured. “I do not think myself above humans.”

After all, hadn’t he fallen for mankind? Didn’t he find himself growing more like them everyday? And yet, even with as much time as he spent with humanity, there was always a slight disconnect, something that made Castiel distinctly other. Weakened grace or not, he would always be an angel. But there was nothing to say that angels were better than humans. Castiel’s brothers and sisters could be just as violent and petty and vindictive as the worst of the humans.

Seeming to sense his sincerity, John shrugged his shoulders, which Castiel took to mean that the unintentional insult had been forgiven.

Castiel watched John thoughtfully as the man strode around the motel room, removing his jacket and beginning to sort through his duffel. He looked tired, shoulders slumped and face smeared with sweat and grime. The angel had judged the hunter harshly at times, but realized that he had never actually had a conversation with him.

“How was your hunt?” he asked, figuring that was the best place to start. John glanced at him bemusedly, then shrugged again.

“Lousy,” he said. “I tracked down the spirit, but it turns out that there were two, a husband and a wife. I burned the wife’s bones, but the husband’s body wasn’t buried with her. I don’t know where he is, so I have to go back out tomorrow and find him. Except now he’s pissed off because I torched his wife, so it’ll be that much more fun.”

The man’s grim tone made it clear that he was being sarcastic about the fun part. Castiel was pleased with how far he had come in recognizing the nuances of human expressions.

“Will you be all right?” he asked. John snorted.

“I know how to do my job, Castiel,” he said coolly. “I’ll get it done.”

Castiel had not meant to offend John – again – but apparently the hunter was particularly prickly. He floundered for something else to say. John seemed to notice his consternation and he sighed, sinking onto his bed and rubbing his face.

“Look, I appreciate your concern,” he said, and Castiel knew that it was as close to an apology as he was going to get. “And I will be okay, it’s just…” He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze landing on his sons. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, Castiel.”

The angel was stunned by the honest admission. He had not thought the gruff John Winchester was one to share his doubts like this. But perhaps because Castiel was not one of his children, did not depend on his to be strong and fearless, he was more comfortable being frank with him. Or perhaps it was because he knew that Castiel was a holy being, though if that was his reason, the angel had a feeling he would be disappointed. But regardless of its cause, Castiel did not want to upset this newfound trust, so he simply gazed at John until the hunter was ready to continue.

“You know why I became a hunter,” he said eventually.

“Your wife was killed.”

The words were surprisingly painful to say. Castiel truly cared for Mary Winchester, and was saddened not only by her death, but for the pain that it caused her family.

John sighed heavily, his eyes darkening with the memory.

“Yeah. And never in my life will I forget the sight of it, or the sound of her screaming. I do everything that I can to avenge her, to make sure that no other families have to go through the same thing, but it’s so _damn hard_ sometimes, and I…”

“You’re doing the best you can,” said Castiel gently when it became clear that John was not going to continue.

“That’s just it. Do you have any idea how it feels when your best just isn’t good enough? When it can never be good enough?”

“Yes.”

John looked up, and his gaze was more searching as it met Castiel’s. The angel could only imagine what he was seeing there.

“Oh,” he said softly.

The silence stretched out between them for a long moment before John broke it again.

“It’s just…it’s not only Mary I’ve failed.” He nodded towards Sam and Dean, still slumbering peacefully beside Castiel. “I haven’t been the father they deserve. I’ve been…their commanding officer. I mean, Sammy is twelve years old, and he already knows his way around more weapons than your average mercenary. I can tell he hates it, but it never stops me. And Dean…he hasn’t been a kid since he was four years old. I tried, a little while ago, to let him have a normal life. Two months I managed to leave him, but I couldn’t…”

He trailed off. Castiel wondered if those two months that he had mentioned were the same ones that Sam had told him about, the ones that had changed Dean. But he did not want to ask, not when John was so clearly in a tenuous emotional state. The man was treating him like a confessional, and he needed to get everything out.

“I just want them to be safe,” the hunter whispered eventually. “If I knew for sure what the best thing for them was, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I just don’t know, so I keep doing the best I can.”

_And it’s not good enough_. Castiel heard the unspoken thought, though he was not sure if he had picked it up from John’s mind or simply his defeated demeanor.

“You could let them see how much you care about them,” the angel suggested gently. John sighed.

“Maybe I should,” he admitted. “But they have each other for the emotional support. You’ve seen how close they are. They don’t need me for that. They need to me teach them, guide them. To keep them safe.”

“There’s no reason that has to exclude affection.”

“Maybe,” John said again, but Castiel had a feeling that his advice had fallen on deaf ears. But then again, the Winchester men were always sparing with their affection. They still managed to show they cared.

Apparently that was the end of the conversation, because John stood abruptly and grabbed a set of sweats from his bag and vanished into the motel room’s small bathroom. Castiel sighed, closing his eyes in a moment of silent grief for the Winchester family. Not a single one of them had deserved the tragedy that had shaped their lives.

He opened his eyes when John emerged from the bathroom a little while later, freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes. The hunter climbed into his bed with a grateful sigh, settling under the covers. Castiel noticed the gun that he had placed on the bedside table, within easy reach.

“Goodnight, Castiel,” John said quietly.

“Goodnight, John.”

There was a long pause, and Castiel thought that would be the end of it, but then, “thanks…for listening.”

“Anytime,” the angel said sincerely.

“Yeah, probably not,” replied John with a dry chuckle.

Castiel smiled. He had suspected that. But he had one more thing to say to the hunter.

“You’re not the only one committed to keeping Sam and Dean safe,” he said firmly.

“I know.”

The gratitude in John’s voice was enough for Castiel. He let the man drift into what was hopefully a peaceful sleep.

Castiel stayed awake throughout the night, feeling better with each passing hour. Perhaps this was the day that he could walk on his own. He hoped so. As much as he cared for the Winchesters, he did not enjoy being so confined in the small motel room for such a long period of time. And he loathed the feeling of impotence that came from being crippled.

John woke with the sun, though Sam and Dean did not stir, undoubtedly still making up for the night of sleep that they had lost when they were watching over Castiel. The eldest Winchester glanced over at the angel as he sat up with a groan.

“Morning,” he mumbled. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Fairly good, actually. I think I might be able to leave today.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

The hunter said nothing else as he prepared to leave for what would undoubtedly be another long day of hunting. It was only when he was halfway out the door that he turned to face Castiel again.

“Make sure those boys eat something besides junk food today, would you?” he said. Castiel nodded. “And in case I don’t see you later; bye.”

“Goodbye, John.”

The man gave Castiel a nod, then pulled the door shut behind him as he left. The impala rumbled to life, and the sound woke Sam, who had somehow ended up with an arm curled around Castiel’s leg. The angel smiled at the boy as he blinked his way blearily back into consciousness, his hair a tufted mess.

“Hello, Sam,” he greeted.

“Mornin’ Cas.” Sam glanced around, noticing the empty bed next to them. “Is Dad still gone?”

“Your father returned safely last night, but he wanted to get an early start this morning. He said to tell you to eat something healthy today.”

Sam smiled, glancing at the half-empty pizza box on the bedside table, and then at his slumbering older brother.

“Yeah, I don’t think that warning was intended for me,” he said.

“Probably not,” Castiel admitted. He remembered that the future Sam had always had the more wholesome diet, while Dean tended to gravitate towards whatever had the most grease in it.

“You feeling any better today?” Sam asked.

“Much. I believe that my ribs are completely healed, and my leg is also well on its way to being fully repaired. I should be able to leave soon.”

“Oh. That’s…that’s great, Cas. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Sam’s face had fallen slightly, and Castiel realized with a pang that the boy would miss him. He spent so much of his time with the Winchesters, he forgot that they saw him much more infrequently.

“But you’ll see me again,” he hastened to add.

Sam nodded, but his face was still morose as he clambered out of the bed, jostling Dean, who simply groaned and threw an arm over his face before returning to his snoring. Sam puttered around the motel room, brushing his teeth and getting ready for the day, and then just looking in the drawers and cabinets.

“Sometimes you can find some cool stuff in places like these,” he told the angel over his shoulder as he rummaged through the dresser. “People just leave things behind, and if it’s not dangerous or valuable, the cleaning staff don’t take it away. Dean once found a postcard from Cape Cod in the 1920’s stuck behind a mirror.”

Though Sam did not find any old epistles in this particular motel room, he did find a timeworn board game that Castiel did not recognize, but Sam seemed to think would be sufficiently entertaining.

“It’s called ‘Sorry!’, Cas,” he said, setting up the board on a tray that he had placed on Castiel’s lap. “You draw cards and move the pieces around the board.”

“What is the purpose of it?” the angel asked. Sam frowned thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. It’s just supposed to be fun. It’s a way to pass the time.”

“Oh. Well, let’s play it then.”

Castiel started out with every intention of letting Sam beat him, not wanting to damage his friend’s confidence. As it turned out, the decision was not up to him. The twelve year old had beaten him soundly four times by the time Dean began to stir.

“Are you guys playing Sorry!?” the teenager asked incredulously as he sat up.

“No. Cas is losing epically at Sorry!” said Sam, holding the board steady as his brother shifted on the mattress. “Seriously, for a guy who can explain astrophysics, he really sucks at board games.”

Castiel glowered at his friend while Dean tried unsuccessfully to hide his smirk.

“I haven’t had as much practice as you,” the angel said stiffly.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Sam. “People can’t be good at everything, Cas.”

“It’s true,” said Dean, sliding closer to the two of them. “But we’ll do our best to help you get better. Deal me in, Sammy.”

They spent the rest of the morning playing the board game. Castiel insisted that they keep going until he won at least one game. Since neither of the boys really had it in them to let him win, it took a while, but when his victory finally came, it was extremely satisfactory.

Once Sam had put the board away, Castiel decided that it was time for him to try to stand.

“Are you sure about this, Cas?” Dean asked after he had cut the angel’s splint away and helped him to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

“I have to try,” Castiel insisted. He had been growing more and more restless as the day progressed, and the pain in his leg had faded to a dull ache.

Dean sighed and nodded, wrapping one of Castiel’s arms over his shoulders. Sam took the angel’s other side, the two of them ready to catch him if he fell. Castiel could feel both boys holding their breath as they watched him slide slowly off of the bed, putting his weight on his feet for the first time since the accident.

He gasped as he hit the ground, bad leg buckling beneath him. The Winchesters held him up, but he resisted their efforts to make him sit back down.

“No,” he said firmly. “No, I can do this. Just…give me a moment.”

He balanced on his good leg as he slowly extended the broken one again. He eased his weight gradually onto the bad leg, gritting his teeth as pain lanced up his calf. But the bone held, and soon Castiel was supporting himself without needing to lean on the Winchesters.

“You good, Cas?” Sam asked, peering up at the angel.

Castiel nodded tightly. The pain was already receding, though the ache remained. After a few moments of just standing and breathing, he hesitantly took a step forward.

He had to lean heavily on Sam and Dean again, but he did not fall, and soon he was able to put another foot forward. He grew steadier with each step, and soon he was able to ask the Winchesters to release him. When they complied, he walked around on his own, relishing the feeling of freedom that the simple motion brought.

“Look at you,” said Dean, his face stretched into a proud smile. “Up and walking two days after getting hit by a car. I always knew you were a superhero.”

Castiel smiled back, flushed with his success. He was hardly a superhero, but at least he was no longer a cripple. He was capable of defending his family again.

“What should we do to celebrate?” Sam asked.

“How about we sit back down again,” Dean suggested, clearly noticing how drawn Castiel’s face was becoming with the continued exertion of walking around.

The angel nodded, letting his body sink onto the pullout couch on the side of the room. Sam and Dean plunked down on either side of him.

“You’re doing great, Cas,” Sam said encouragingly.

“Yeah, you’ll be back to full strength in no time,” Dean added. Castiel smiled ruefully at him.

“You haven’t seen me at full strength,” he said. “It was a thing to behold.”

He looked away from both of them, eyes unfocused as he remembered what he had been. He thought back to the confident, powerful, fearsome warrior that he had been when he had first met Dean, the one capable of wasting precious power on an arrogant display of his wings. That Castiel would never have been sidelined by a mere car accident. Of course, that Castiel had not understood or appreciated the value of human relationships and family, so perhaps not all of the changes had been bad.

Sam and Dean stared at him, their eyes wide as they tried to understand this new facet of their friend.

“Can you tell us about it?” Sam asked hopefully.

“We’d love to hear some stories,” chimed in Dean. “You hardly ever talk about heaven, or who you were.”

Castiel studied both boys for a moment. Their faces were full of eagerness and hope. Surely he could tell them something? Not about their future, of course, but about his past. Besides, it would be at least a few hours before he was strong enough to leave; he may as well spend the time entertaining his friends. He sighed, thinking, searching for a good story to tell them.

He could not settle on one, so he gave them several short tales, snapshots from his life in heaven. He told them about his garrison, though he tried to avoid talking about Anna. Her betrayal was still too fresh, and it was because of her that Castiel was currently lost in time. He made the stories as light as he could, wanting to entertain the Winchesters without frightening them. But he did tell them about some of the more important battles that he had participated in. When he had finished, both of their faces were alight with wonder.

“That sounds so cool, Cas,” Dean breathed. The angel smiled.

“It was cool,” he said. _Most of the time._

“Don’t you ever miss it?” asked Sam. Castiel gave him a small smile, pondering the question.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “I miss my brothers and sisters, miss the way things were when it was peaceful. But things have changed so much…My place is here.”

And it was. Castiel did not regret choosing the Winchesters.

But it was time to move on again. He stood up, pleased when his leg held firmly beneath him.

“Do you have to go already, Cas?” Dean asked, the disappointment evident in his tone.

“I’m afraid so,” said Castiel.

Sam stepped forward and gave the angel a hug, being careful not to put too much pressure on his bruised ribs.

“I’ll miss you,” the boy said into the fabric of Castiel’s shirt.

“And I you, Sam.”

As the younger boy stepped back, Dean just wordlessly helped Castiel put on his suit jacket and trench coat. The angel used a tiny pulse of his power to repair the torn places on all of his clothes, as well as to purge his blood from the material. Perhaps it was silly, but Jimmy Novak had taken pride in his appearance, and Castiel liked to honor him by doing the same.

When the angel was ready to go, he met Dean’s gaze. The boy hesitated for a moment, then rushed forward to embrace Castiel as his brother had.

“See you later, Cas,” he said, his voice rough.

“Yes,” the angel promised firmly.

He gave both Winchesters one last smile before he took wing once more. He did not immediately slip through the fluid barrier of time, as he usually did. Instead, he found the nearest orchard, picking several of the best apples he could find. He flitted back to the boys’ motel room, leaving the fruit on the table, in and out so fast that Sam and Dean would not notice him. Then, promise to John having been fulfilled, he let himself be swept away through time.

When Castiel landed, he found himself standing outside of a large brick building. He glanced around, sinking gratefully onto the bench a few feet behind him, still not fully recovered from his ordeal. He caught sight of a sign that proclaimed the building to be an elementary school. The angel could feel Dean’s presence inside, as well as his boredom. Oh well. At least the boy was not being teased again.

Castiel took a few deep breaths, letting his eyes drift shut. He would stay here; avoid interrupting Dean’s day. He did that sometimes, when the boy did not see him arrive. He loved Dean, but he sometimes worried about the frequency of his visits. He knew that it was too late to avoid changing Sam and Dean’s timelines, but he did want them to be able to live their own lives to some extent.

Besides, sometimes Castiel enjoyed the peace of not having to worry about what he said to the Winchesters, what he gave away and what he changed. He simply took comfort in knowing that they were close, and that he was not currently messing up their lives.

After a few minutes of resting on the bench, Castiel felt a jolt in his piece of Dean’s soul. He glanced up, quickly finding the pair of green eyes fixed on him through a second story window. The angel smiled up at Dean, giving him a little wave. The boy grinned back a little uncertainly. Perhaps this was one of the first times he had seen Castiel. He did look very young.

The angel did his best to look nonthreatening as he continued to recover his strength for the next leg of his journey. Dean stared at him for a moment longer before his attention was called away by his teacher. Castiel thoughtfully watched the window where he had been until he felt strong enough to move on.

He stood, wincing as his still-sore leg twinged. He stretched out his battered wings, propelling himself back into the torrent of time. He held on for as long as he could through the usual painful buffeting current, but still found himself slipping back to reality fairly quickly.

He was enveloped in a cloud of noise as he landed, a cacophony of shouts pounding his ears, but it was what he saw that made fear and rage explode in his chest. Because he could see Dean Winchester pinned to the ground, gasping as he struggled against the stranglehold in which he was trapped.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel surged forward, taking hold of the young man attacking Dean and pulling him away. Once he was safely clear of his friend, the angel threw the assailant to the ground. He crouched down, letting his angel blade slip into his hand as he prepared to make him pay for hurting Dean.

But then there was a firm hand on his shoulder, tugging him backwards, and a familiar voice shouting in his ear.

“Cas, stop! Don’t hurt him! It’s okay, we were just wrestling.”

Castiel paused, letting Dean’s hurried words register. Just wrestling, Dean had said. Something humans did for sport. He looked down at the boy he still had pinned to the ground, realizing that he was just another teenager, and that his eyes were wide with terror. The angel could detect no malevolence toward Dean in his countenance.

Castiel abruptly released the boy, standing quickly. He turned to Dean, making sure that he truly was all right. His friend was staring at him, seeming to be torn between incredulity, annoyance, and amusement.

Eventually Castiel registered the silence that had fallen, and he realized he had dozens of sets of eyes on him. He had apparently interrupted the wrestling team’s practice, and now everyone in the gymnasium was staring at him. Panicking, the angel shielded himself, vanishing from human sight.

Dean tossed his hands into the air, sighing with frustration.

“Oh nice, Cas, thanks,” he grumbled. He turned to an older man who was apparently his coach, giving him some flimsy explanation about an overprotective cousin who had come to watch him practice. The man did not seem convinced, but as the person in question was nowhere to be seen, he could not exactly press the issue. Then Dean hurried outside of the building, and Castiel followed. He let go of his invisibility once they were alone.

“What the hell was that, Cas?” asked Dean heatedly as soon as he could see his angel.

“I thought that he was hurting you.”

Dean sighed.

“It’s just a sport, Cas. Besides, I totally would have won that round.”

“I’m sorry for any inconvenience that I may have caused you,” said Castiel, a bit of rare sarcasm leaking into his tone. “But landing in a new time and place is very disorienting, and the first thing that I saw was you being held against your will. My reaction was instinctive.”

Dean’s face softened. He sighed again.

“I get that you were trying to protect me,” he said. “And thanks for that. But I’m fine, and I think you made Tom pee his pants.”

“Why would he have urinated on himself?” asked Castiel in confusion, surmising that Tom was the boy he had attacked. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“You scared the crap out of him, Cas,” he said, as if that should have been obvious. “The look on your face…hell, anyone would have been terrified.”

“Well, I am sorry for alarming him,” said Castiel, though he was honestly rather indifferent. He had not done the boy any actual harm. “But he was treating you very roughly.”

“It’s wrestling, Cas! It’s supposed to be rough.”

“I wasn’t aware that you wrestled at all, outside of the sparring that you do with your father and brother.”

Dean’s face changed, closing off slightly.

“It’s just something I’m trying out,” he said. “And I’m not…I’m not hunting anymore.”

He said the last words in a rush, as if he were afraid to let them out, but unable to contain them any longer.

“Oh.” Castiel did not know what else to say. He had never heard about Dean taking a hiatus from hunting, and the older man he knew had been a hunter to the core. Did this have something to do with Castiel? Had he changed Dean’s life so drastically that he had quit the lifestyle he was destined for?

Castiel examined Dean more closely. He looked to be about sixteen years of age. Perhaps this was during those mysterious two months that John and Sam had both mentioned, and Dean refused to talk much about.

“Do you think that’s bad?” Dean asked, and he sounded younger than he usually did around this age.

“Not in itself, no,” said Castiel. “Unless there’s a bad reason that you stopped.”

“Does getting caught stealing food count as a bad reason?”

Castiel decided that he was in desperate need of some context.

“What?” he asked.

Dean looked away, walking to a bench that was a few feet from them and sitting down.

“I messed up, Cas,” he told his feet. “I lost the money that Dad left for us, and when I got caught trying to steal some food for Sammy, the cops took me in. They called Dad, and he, uh, he told them to just leave me in jail, but they took me to a boys home instead and I’ve been staying there for a few weeks.”

Castiel did his very best not to show the fury that Dean’s words had sparked in him, but he was fairly sure that the teenager could feel it through their bond, because he leaned away from the angel, curling in on himself slightly. Castiel tried to calm himself down, because the last thing Dean needed was to think that any of the rage was directed at him. Besides, Dean did not even know about their connection yet, and the surge of emotion was bound to confuse him.

But oh, how furious Castiel was. Not only had John Winchester failed to adequately provide for his children, he had forsaken Dean when he had tried to take care of his brother. The goodwill toward John that had been cultivated after Castiel’s accident evaporated, leaving no evidence that it had ever been there.

Castiel sat beside Dean once he had gained a bit more control over his anger.

“Dean,” he said slowly, clearly. “Have you been hurt in any way while you’ve been staying here?”

Because that was the important thing now. He would deal with John the next time he saw the man.

“What? No!” said Dean, finally looking up to meet the angel’s eyes.

“Dean.”

“Seriously, Cas, I’m fine,” the teenager said earnestly. “It’s actually…it’s been nice here. I’m doing well.”

Castiel studied him carefully for any signs that he was lying. Dean _looked_ fine. He had none of the bruises that Castiel had occasionally seen on him after hunts, none of the shadows under his eyes that were the byproducts of exhaustion and haunted dreams. He seemed content.

That helped the angel to relax slightly, but he still needed some answers.

“Dean,” he said again, and this time it was a request. Dean glanced down again.

“I thought I’d hate it,” he admitted. “I planned on skipping out first chance I got. But the guy who runs the boys home, Sonny, is awesome. He took care of me, got me enrolled in a good school. He suggested that I try out for wrestling, and I love it. He’s supportive of me having my own life, and I think…Cas, I think that’s what I want. I think I want to stay out of hunting.”

He looked up at Castiel again, a plea for understanding in his eyes. The angel did not know how to respond. If Dean was truly happy here, how could he tell him to go? But how could he encourage him to stay, knowing that it would only last two months? He did not know what was best for Dean.

“I think that choice is yours to make,” he said eventually.

“So you don’t think it’s wrong for me to stop?”

“No.” _Impossible, but not wrong._

The relief in Dean’s face was surprisingly painful. What could have driven him away from this new life of his?

Castiel suddenly recalled his conversation with John back in the motel room. The man had said that he tried to let Dean choose his own path, but that he could not, and Castiel had been too sensitive to press for more answers. He really should have demanded a better explanation. Though the memory did cause some of Castiel’s rage towards John to abate slightly. Perhaps instead of abandoning his son, he had been trying to give him a chance. But if that were the case, he had still managed to go about it quite poorly.

Castiel gave Dean a reassuring smile, realizing that the teen had been worried about his approval. Even though this was destined to be a short period in his life, he deserved to enjoy it without fearing that he was disappointing his friend.

Dean smiled back, but then his expression changed abruptly and he stood, facing away from Castiel. The angel stood as well, concerned as he felt a surprisingly forceful turmoil bubble to the surface of Dean’s soul.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean stiffened under his touch, staring at the hand until Castiel removed it.

“I don’t,” he began, then shook his head. “I’ve been feeling…” he sighed in frustration. “I’m confused, Cas. You confuse me.”

The angel blinked. He had not been expecting that.

“Um,” he said, not quite sure how to respond. “I’m sorry?”

Dean chuckled, though it lacked much humor.

“You don’t have to apologize, Cas,” he said.

There was another long period of silence, in which Castiel simply stood there in utter consternation, with no idea of how to handle the situation, mostly because he did not know what the situation actually was. He was relieved when Dean finally spoke again.

“Do you think it’s…I mean, is it wrong to…to like guys?”

“No,” replied Castiel, more confused than ever. “Why would it be wrong for men to be friends with one another?”

Dean sighed, but his exasperation seemed to momentarily overpower whatever other difficulty he was having.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I meant…I meant romantically.”

Oh.

He had almost forgotten that the Dean he knew from the future had only ostensibly been interested in women. He had become so caught up in their budding and fragile romance that he had not stopped to consider the fact that it went against Dean’s established sexuality. He should have known that this struggle would come up at some point.

He was not sure how to proceed. He did not want to take advantage of Dean, but he knew that the young man would be comfortable with his bisexuality in the future.

“No, Dean,” he said gently. “I don’t think it’s wrong.”

“But-” Dean finally turned to look at him again, and his confusion and worry were evident. “But you’re an angel. You’re holy. I mean, doesn’t the Bible say-”

“The Bible was written by men, not God,” Castiel interrupted firmly. “It is simply an interpretation of God’s word. Besides…I don’t think you should care what God thinks.”

Dean stared at him.

“I guess I don’t,” he said. “But I thought you…I mean aren’t you…don’t you kind of have to care what He thinks?”

Castiel chuckled bitterly. Had Dean asked him that question a year ago, or several years in the future, really, he would have answered with an unequivocal yes. He had been created to serve God. It was his purpose, and he was good at it. But he had come to understand that God had abandoned His work. Castiel had still been searching for him when he had begun this mad trip into the past, but it had been more out of desperation than loyalty. With the apocalypse nigh, they had been running low on options, and Castiel had hoped that God was the answer. Bobby Singer and the Winchesters had thought his mission pointless, and perhaps they were right. Castiel was still not quite ready to give up on his father, but that did not mean that Dean deserved to punish himself based on what God may or may not have thought two thousand years ago.

“Not anymore,” he answered Dean.

“You really think it’s okay?” Dean asked hopefully.

“I think that your sexuality is entirely your business, and if you are comfortable with it, then no one else has the right to judge you for it. Including me. But for the record, I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation.”

Dean said nothing more, but Castiel could feel his relief.

A car horn beeped, and Castiel looked up to see a battered sedan idling at the curb. Dean gave the driver a small wave, then turned to Castiel.

“That’s Sonny,” he told the angel. “He’s here to take me back to the house.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” asked Castiel, unsure whether or not his presence was welcome as Dean was working through his thoughts and identity.

Dean hesitated.

“Yeah, but would you mind making a stop first?”

“Probably not.”

Dean smiled at his somewhat dubious tone.

“It’s nothing bad,” he promised. “I was just hoping that you could check on Sammy. I haven’t seen him since I came here, and I just want to make sure he’s doing okay. He’s never been on his own with Dad for this long before.”

Castiel gave his friend a sad smile. Even content as the teenager was in this fleeting new life of his, he was still worried about his little brother.

“Of course,” said Castiel.

He closed his eyes, though not before he saw Dean’s look of grateful relief. The angel extended his senses, searching for Sam’s familiar signature in the teeming horde of humanity that shared the planet with him.

“I found him,” said Castiel after a few moments. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

He did not give Dean time to answer before he let his wings carry him towards the signal of Sam’s soul. While the flight was taxing, it was not nearly as bad as the ones that involved travel through time as well as space, and he had considerably more control over his path.

When Castiel landed, he heard a muffled curse and the sound of a shotgun being cocked. Apparently Dean had been right to worry about Sam. Castiel let his angel blade slip into his hand, turning to face whoever had thought it was a good idea to take on a celestial being with a mere firearm.

Castiel relaxed when he recognized Robert Singer, the man who was essentially a second father to Dean and Sam. The hunter did not seem to share the angel’s relief.

“You have six seconds to tell me who you are, what you are, and what you’re doing here before I give you an extra set of holes,” he growled.

“Uh, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, here to ascertain the condition of Sam Winchester,” Castiel reported.

Bobby blinked in surprise, but he lowered the gun slightly.

“No kidding?” he asked.

“No. I would be happy to submit to a holy water test, if it would make you more comfortable.” Castiel was not inclined to waste his energy on a display of his wings.

Bobby nodded, using one hand to pull a flask out of his pocket and tossing it to Castiel. The angel sipped its contents, and when he did not start screaming in pain, Bobby lowered his gun completely.

“I’ll be damned,” he said. “They really do have an angel looking out for them.”

Castiel assumed that ‘they’ were the Winchesters, so he nodded. Bobby looked a bit uncertain of how to proceed, so Castiel did what Sam had done when they had first met. He extended a hand, which Bobby shook hesitantly, the hunter’s grip growing firmer when he did not spontaneously combust from contact with a holy being.

“You said you were here about Sam?” Bobby asked once they had released each other’s hands.

“Yes. Dean wanted to make sure that he was doing well.”

“Oh yeah, he’s fine,” said Bobby. He jerked his head towards one of his windows. “He’s playing out in the scrapyard. With the new puppy that he somehow convinced me to get.”

The hunter shook his head, apparently still incredulous that Sam had managed to wheedle him into getting a dog. Castiel understood the feeling. He had firsthand experience with Sam’s powers of persuasion, especially when he was young. But then the rest of what Castiel had said seemed to register for the hunter.

“Wait, you said Dean sent you?” he asked. Castiel nodded. “Is that boy all right? I swear, I just about punched John when he showed up with Sam and told me that he’d just left Dean behind.”

Castiel understood that feeling as well.

“Dean is safe and content,” he assured the hunter. “Just worried about his brother.”

“Good. Well, like I said, Sam’s outside if you wanna see him. And you be sure to tell Dean that I said hi when you see him again. Actually-” the hunter walked over to one of his cluttered bookshelves and pulled something down. “Would you give him this?”

Castiel took the object that Bobby handed to him, looking down at it. It appeared to just be a simple white sphere with red stitching.

“It’s a baseball,” Bobby explained. “We used to throw it around together when he came over. Lately he’s been saying that he doesn’t have the time for it, but if he’s happy like you say, maybe he’s got the time now. If not, well, maybe it’ll remind him to give his old uncle a call every now and again.”

Castiel smiled at Bobby. He’d only had a handful of interactions with the man, but it had not taken long to like him. Now Castiel was especially grateful for his presence in the boys’ lives.

“I’ll make sure he gets it,” the angel promised. Bobby nodded, and with that, Castiel walked out into the scrapyard to check on Sam.

The boy was not far from the house, sitting in the dust under the shadow of a rusty car skeleton, his hands tangled in the black and brown fur of a large puppy. Castiel smiled, listening to Sam’s peals of laughter as the dog licked his face. He decided not to disturb his friend. Instead, he went back inside to make sure that his living arrangements were suitable.

“Satisfied?” asked Bobby when he saw the angel.

“He looks well. How long has he been staying here?”

“’Bout a month. It’s longer than usual, but I don’t mind. He and his brother are always welcome. God knows those boys deserve some kind of stable home.”

Castiel could not have agreed more. He took comfort in the knowledge that Bobby and his scrapyard would still be home to the Winchesters long into the future.

“Thank you for taking care of them,” he told Bobby earnestly.

“Likewise,” said Bobby with a gruff smile. “I’ve heard some stories about you. Sounds like you’re their superhero.”

“Yes, well, someone ought to be,” said Castiel. “And since I’m the only creature with supernatural powers that takes an interest in their wellbeing, I was sort of the only candidate.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” said Bobby with a chuckle. “See you around, Castiel.”

“Yes.”

The angel took flight again, reappearing on the porch of a large farmhouse next to a very familiar teenager, who looked up at him expectantly.

Dean was satisfied with the news of his brother, and delighted by Bobby’s gift of the baseball. He insisted that Castiel play catch with him, so he and the angel spent a few hours tossing the ball back and forth, stopping only when Dean was called into the house for dinner. The teenager bade his angel a cheerful goodbye. While the topic of sexuality had not come up again, Dean’s buoyant spirits told Castiel that he had come to a comfortable place with himself.

As Castiel was preparing to leave, his wings prickled, and he felt the fleeting impression of an angelic grace that was not his. He froze, extending his senses, trying to pin down where the sensation was coming from. If there was another angel near Dean Winchester, Castiel wanted to know why. He did not trust his brothers and sisters to have good intentions toward the boy.

But though he was certain that he had felt an angelic presence, Castiel could not sense it anymore. Whoever it was had gone, perhaps because they realized that Castiel had detected them.

The angel looked around uneasily, hesitant to leave Dean on his own. But he knew that Dean would not be able to explain his presence to Sonny, and he did not want to complicate the boy’s life further. He settled for drawing warding symbols on the walls of the house, using his powers to make them invisible to humans so that no one would wash them off. It would have to be enough.

Taking some comfort in the fact that he knew Dean would be safe and sound in a few months, when Castiel had his car accident; the angel took off at last.

ooooooooooooo

Castiel materialized with his nose inches from a row of iron bars. He blinked and took a few steps back.

“Are we in a jail cell?” he asked, peering at his surroundings.

He heard Dean grunt in surprise, and turned to see the hunter sitting up hastily from the thin mattress on which he had apparently been sleeping. Dean relaxed when he recognized the angel.

“’Fraid so,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Though it’s really just a holding cell. Turns out the local cops don’t take kindly to teenagers digging up graves in the middle of the night.”

“I see,” said Castiel, sitting on the bunk beside Dean. “And your father hasn’t been able to get you out yet?”

Dean glanced away, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“He, uh, may not be aware that I’m here,” he muttered.

“Surely he grew worried when you didn’t return from your salt and burn,” said Castiel, confused. John Winchester may have been a poor parent, but he did care about his sons and he would notice if they did not come back from a hunt. Although apparently he was content to leave his children in jail cells. Castiel tried to shake off some of the lingering bitterness.

“I’m sure he would have, if he actually knew about said salt and burn,” said Dean, rubbing the back of his neck and not meeting the angel’s eyes.

“You didn’t tell him?” Castiel asked incredulously.

“He was two towns over, working another job,” said Dean defensively. “I noticed signs of spirit activity, so I took matters into my own hands. I’m almost nineteen, Cas! I’ve helped with plenty of hunts before, and this was just a simple ghost.”

Castiel sighed, knowing by now that it would be utterly pointless to tell Dean to be more careful.

“So what now?” he asked.

“I called Sammy, but he’s only fourteen, and I’m not sure how much he can do. I don’t suppose you could get me out of here?” asked Dean hopefully.

“Of course, but don’t you think that would raise suspicions? The police would wonder how you escaped from their locked holding cell.” Castiel would still do it if need be, of course, but he did try to make sure that Dean minimized his reckless activities. And the young hunter as not in immediate danger.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Dean reluctantly. “That normally wouldn’t be a big problem for us; we’d just leave town. But Sam has this school dance next week, and I don’t want him to have to miss it. He actually got a girl to agree to go with him, and how many times is that opportunity going to come up again? Besides, I’ll probably just get a fine for this.”

“If you managed to avoid antagonizing your arresting officers,” said Castiel, knowing of Dean’s problem with authority figures. He sighed when Dean squirmed uncomfortably. “What did you say to them?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Dean defensively.

Castiel just shook his head, settling in to wait with Dean. He would stay until the teenager was out of his current predicament.

“You’ve already had the car accident, haven’t you?” said Dean abruptly, after they had been sitting silently for several minutes.

“What?”

“That time you got hit by that reckless dickbag that didn’t even bother to stop. You were laid up in bed for two days. That’s happened for you, right?”

“Yes. Quite recently, actually. How did you know?”

Dean smiled, and he reached out to press his fingers to Castiel’s hairline, just above his right ear.

“It gave you a tiny scar,” he said. “It’s from a piece of glass, or hitting the pavement, or something. I don’t know why it didn’t heal all the way like your other cuts, but it’s how I can tell.”

Castiel was not paying as much attention as usual to Dean’s words. He was too distracted by the feeling of Dean’s hand, which was still resting against his face. It was a novel sensation, and a pleasant one. Dean had touched him before, but this felt different, more intimate.

The angel hesitantly reached up his own hand to meet Dean’s, and the hunter’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up. Dean twined his fingers with Castiel’s, and brought their joined hands to rest in his lap. He leaned into the angel’s shoulder, and their combined soul and grace warmed at the proximity.

“You know, jail sucks a lot less when you’re here,” Dean said conversationally. That drew a soft chuckle from Castiel.

“I’m happy to be of service,” he said.

“Well, in that case,” said Dean, “I do have a request.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel expected Dean to continue, but he suddenly seemed shy. The angel simply waited.

“You remember the last day you were with us after the car accident?” he asked eventually.

“Of course. I remember all of my time spent with you and Sam.”

“Right. Well, you told us some stories, about heaven and your old life.”

“Yes,” said Castiel, suddenly understanding what his friend was getting at. “You’d like to hear some more?”

“Yeah, but…” Dean trailed off, looking torn.

“But?” Castiel prompted after a few moments of silence.

“You mostly just told us about the basic everyday stuff,” said Dean. “And it was awesome and everything, but it just felt…watered down. Like you were holding the important stories back. And I get it; we were younger, you didn’t want to freak us out. But I’m an adult now, Cas. I’m old enough, and I want…I want to know more about you. I know who you _are_ , but I don’t know who you _were_ , not really. And that doesn’t sit right with me anymore.”

He looked down at their entwined hands as he spoke, and Castiel suspected that he was worried he was asking too much. The angel sighed, feeling torn himself. He did not fault Dean for asking; it was a perfectly reasonable request. After all, Castiel had been present in Dean’s life from the beginning, whereas Castiel had lived millennia that Dean had been no part of. It was only fair that he attempt to right that balance.

“Okay,” he said, and Dean looked up at him.

“Okay?” he repeated skeptically.

“What do you want to know? You would need a life sentence to hear my entire history, so is there anything in particular that you’re curious about?”

Dean was thoughtful for a moment.

“What’s the most important thing you’ve ever done?” he asked eventually. “In your opinion, not heaven’s.”

Castiel was silent. He had so many years worth of memories to choose from, and he had done so much with his life, but there was only one thing that stayed persistently at the forefront of his mind. But how to tell the story?

“Angels don’t usually get involved in the affairs of mankind,” he began eventually, and he could sense Dean’s rapt attention. “In the last two thousand years, we were not even supposed to visit the earth. We were merely watchers, sentinels. I saw eras of human peace and prosperity, as well as those of war and chaos and suffering, but I never got involved without orders, and orders did not come. I would…cheat occasionally. I would come down to earth, but I would not take a vessel, would not interact with any humans. I simply wanted to get a closer look at the vitality of humanity.

“And so it went, for year after year. It got boring, to be honest.” Dean snorted, and Castiel ignored him. “I was still a soldier, and I fought in the occasional battle, but for the most part, nothing happened, until early in the twenty-first century. That was when…cosmic wheels started turning, I suppose. Angelic and demonic plots alike were put into action, most of which I was entirely unaware. I did my duty, slew the demons that I was instructed to, and watched as chaos started gaining power. That was when I got my most important order, though I did not know it at the time. To me it was just another mission. There was a man that needed to be rescued from hell.”

“Why?” Dean interrupted. “What was so special about him?”

Castiel hid his smile. Quite a bit was special about him, though he had not known that.

“He did not belong there,” he said simply, though that had not been his reasoning at the time.

The angels had known that Dean could be the one to break the first seal, and they had wanted to stop it from happening. When that failed, they had known that they would need Dean in order to have any chance of stopping the apocalypse before it began. But it had become so much more than that, to Castiel at least.

“The righteous man, he was called,” Castiel continued. “He did not deserve perdition, and he still had important work to do on earth. I was tasked with leading the squadron of angels that would break him out. Together we laid siege to hell, fighting our way through scores of demons intent on impeding our efforts. It was more difficult than any of us had expected…”

Castiel let his narrative drop for a moment, his memories of hell rising up in a surprisingly powerful tide. He could feel the scorching, corrosive heat burning into him, could see the tide of demons rising up around him and his comrades, ten new abominations appearing for each one they slew, their fighting scored by the endless cries of the damned. It had been impossibly draining, mortal combat in an environment designed to choke its inhabitants with misery and hopelessness. And as angel after angel had fallen to the onslaught of demons, Castiel had felt plenty of both.

“Cas?” Dean said gently, squeezing his hand, his face concerned. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about-”

“No,” Castiel said quickly. “It’s all right. I’m all right. It was just…a very difficult mission. I was the only angel to survive. We are stronger than demons, but there were only twelve of us, and there were simply too many of them.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dean. He must have seen the grief that Castiel still felt for the soldiers lost under his command. “But did you get the guy at least?”

That brought a small smile to Castiel’s lips, though that memory was wrought with pain as well.

“Yes,” he said. “I found him. He had been broken in ways that I had never seen, but…”

Castiel vividly remembered his first sight of Dean Winchester. He had seen the man’s soul first, an agonized, corrupted thing that still held a brightness that was impossible to ignore. It had been twisted and shredded, but it was held together by an iron strength and will the likes of which the angel had never seen before. Castiel had been shocked by the realization that he found it beautiful. He had been so distracted by it that he had not realized at first what Dean was doing. And then he had been hit with a wave of disappointment and regret so powerful that it had stopped him cold for a moment.

Because the righteous man was not under a blade, he was wielding one. The angels had been too late. _Castiel_ had been too late. The first seal had been broken, along with Dean Winchester’s spirit.

But Castiel refused to believe that all was lost. He had come too far, fought too hard to turn back now. Besides, his orders had been to raise Dean, no matter what shape he was in. So the angel had approached Dean, placing his hand on the shoulder that was not quite corporeal, stopping him from digging his blade into his current victim again. Dean had frozen at his touch, and Castiel had been struck by the strength of the agony in his soul.

Dean had not struggled as the angel rested a hand on his forehead, easing the devastated man into a restful oblivion that he had not known for forty years. Then Castiel had tightened his grip on his new charge and finally let himself go, surging out of the pit of misery in which neither of them belonged.

“But not irreparably,” Castiel continued, remembering that Dean was still listening to his story. “He was still extraordinary. I didn’t realize just how extraordinary at first, but he had been placed in my charge, and I spent a great deal of time around him. I had never put effort into getting to know a human before, but I did with him and he taught me much. He taught me about humanity, more than I had ever learned in my thousands of years of watching. He taught me what things were worth fighting for. And I never ceased to be amazed by him. Saving him was the most important thing I have ever done.”

Dean was silent for a moment.

“He sounds…great, Cas,” he said eventually, though there was an odd undercurrent in his voice, as well as his soul. “I’m sorry that you haven’t been able to get back to him.”

“Don’t be,” said Castiel, realizing that perhaps the undercurrent had been bitterness towards someone that Dean thought the angel preferred to him. “I’ve been spending time with his equal.”

Dean looked up at last, and now there was a faint smile on his lips.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Castiel had not meant to make Dean jealous of his own future self. He leaned forward, pressing a hesitant kiss onto Dean’s temple. The young man sighed contentedly, relaxing into the angel’s side.

“So do Sammy and I ever get to meet this boy wonder?” he asked, and if his tone was a bit too casual, Castiel elected to ignore it. “You said you know us from the future, right? So we spend time with him too?”

“I believe you will get to know him very well,” said Castiel.

“Yeah, well, he sounds like a prick.”

Castiel hid his smile in Dean’s hair.

“Only on occasion.”

They waited together for a few more hours, sometimes talking about Dean and his family’s travels and exploits, sometimes just leaning against each other in silence. Occasionally Castiel would tell Dean another personal story, though none of the same magnitude as the rescuing of the righteous man.

Eventually a police officer approached the holding cell, and Castiel quickly made himself invisible. The authorities would probably take exception to a random man appearing in one of their locked cells. The way that the cop glared down at Dean told Castiel that they had a history. It also made his feathers bristle angrily, and he wrapped a wing around Dean protectively, even though he knew that the man was no real threat.

“You’re free to go,” the officer told Dean, the words sounding like they were spoken around something sour.

“Yeah?” said Dean, standing and giving the cop one of his cheeky grins. “Did you find an actual criminal to put in here instead?”

“No, but it turns out you’ve got a little brother who could convince a butcher to go vegan. You’re getting off with a fine this time. But if we catch you so much as putting a toe in another cemetery-”

“Let me guess; I’ll feel the wrath of the Jasper County sheriff’s department?” Dean interrupted. “I’m just quaking in my boots.”

“Your boots were confiscated,” the officer told him.

Castiel glanced down, amused to see that Dean’s feet were indeed clad only in socks.

Dean opened his mouth, presumably to say something else ill advised, and Castiel gently dug his elbow into the young man’s ribs, as he had seen Sam do when he wanted Dean to stop talking. It proved to be effective. Dean’s mouth snapped closed again, but he did shoot a glare at Castiel. Due to the fact that he could not actually see the angel, he was really just glowering at the wall.

The surly officer led Dean through the police station and into the lobby, where Sam was waiting. The boy gave his older brother a relieved smile when he saw him, though there was disapproval in his eyes.

“Save me the speech, Sammy,” said Dean, ruffling his brother’s hair as they walked out of the building together after paying the fine.

“Dean, you should have at least told me where you were going,” Sam said anyway. Dean ignored him.

“I wouldn’t bother, Sam,” said Castiel, returning to visibility once they were out of sight of the police station. “Dean has never been one to listen to caution.”

“Cas!” said Sam with surprised pleasure. He stopped walking to give the angel a quick hug. “When did you get here?”

“A few hours ago.”

“Yep. Cas has officially been in the slammer,” said Dean.

“You’re a bad influence, Dean,” said Sam, though his tone was light.

“I didn’t mind,” said Castiel. Dean grinned at him.

“Yeah well, you should both be thanking me. You didn’t exactly have many fans in that station. It took me half an hour to convince them to let you go.”

“Half an hour?” Dean exclaimed. “Do you have any idea how long I was in there? What were you doing for the rest of that time?”

“Rescuing your precious car from where you stashed it at the cemetery. I didn’t think you’d be too happy if the police found it before I did.”

“You drove my car?”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s indignation.

“Yes, Dean,” he said impatiently. “And because I’m not incompetent, everything went fine. The impala is in one piece, _and_ safe from the cops. I’m still waiting on that thank you.”

Dean sighed, slinging an arm around Sam’s shoulders.

“Thanks Sammy,” he said with feigned solemnity. “You’re my favorite little brother.”

“I’m your only little brother.”

Castiel hid his grimace. He had never met Adam Milligan in person, but he knew that the young man’s death had not been pleasant, and it had haunted both of his older brothers.

“I should go,” he said, once the black impala was in sight.

The Winchester boys stopped, disappointment shadowing both of their faces. That was the part Castiel hated most; the inevitable disappointment each time he left. But he had lingered too long already.

“Right. Okay, Cas,” said Dean. He glanced over at Sam, then pulled the angel into a hug, squeezing him more tightly than usual. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Castiel felt slightly guilty that Dean felt the need to thank him simply for being there. He returned the hug, treasuring the feeling of his chest pressed against Dean’s, though he broke away when Sam started to look uncomfortable. He then pulled the younger Winchester into a hug of his own, though this one was briefer.

Then he stepped back, giving both boys a smile before he slipped back out of their plane of existence.

He reappeared in front of a small weather-beaten and worn house, just as Sam Winchester was walking out the door. Not much time could have passed since the incident at the police station, because the boy looked to be about the same age. He jumped when he saw the angel in the front yard, but then his face lit up with relief.

“Cas, thank god you’re here,” said Sam, grabbing the Castiel’s arm. “We have a situation.”


	9. Chapter 9

“What’s wrong?” Castiel demanded.

“It’s Dean’s birthday,” Sam told him, and the angel titled his head in confusion.

“Oh. Why is that a situation?”

“Because Dad forgot, like always, and Dean thinks I forgot too but I didn’t, I was just trying to think of something special but I couldn’t come up with anything but now you’re here and it’ll be perfect,” Sam said in a rush, practically vibrating with excitement. “And it has to be perfect, because it’s Dean’s nineteenth birthday, which isn’t usually a special one, because eighteen is the special one, but Dad drank his way through that one, so then Dean drank his way through it too, and I’m not sure he even remembers it, but if he does it’s not a happy memory, and this one needs to be a happy memory, okay?”

Castiel gripped Sam’s shoulders gently, trying to stabilize the normally calm boy.

“I understand,” he said, though he did not really appreciate what was so special about birthdays, or why humans put so much weight on them. It was one less year that the person had left to spend on earth, and what was so exciting about that? But it was important to Sam, and probably to Dean too, so he would do whatever he could. “What do you need from me?”

“Well, we’ve been staying in this house exactly long enough to know that there is absolutely nothing to do in this town, so I was kind of hoping you could take us somewhere cool. But you know, just being here is the important thing. Dean gets pretty mopey when you’re not around.”

That last comment sent a tangled mix of emotions roiling through Castiel’s stomach. Had Dean been pining after him? That was…gratifying in a way, but it also made the angel feel guilty for leaving Dean so often. He resolved to make it up to him today.

But what to do? Castiel knew that Dean liked the movies, but they could go there any time. What else did Dean like? Cars, obviously, but he already had the impala. Music, but Castiel did not trust himself enough to bring Dean back in time to see one of his favorite bands performing. But then he remembered something from before, from the time when Castiel had just been starting to struggle in earnest with his confusing and forbidden feelings for the righteous man.

“Do you think something simple would be all right?” he asked Sam.

“Yeah, of course. What did you have in mind?”

“Dean has a particular fondness for hamburgers.”

“That he does,” said Sam with a laugh. “So you just want to go out to lunch?”

“Yes, but I was thinking of something a bit more…meaningful.”

Just then, they both heard the sound of the impala’s engine approaching.

“Quick Cas, go invisible,” Sam hissed.

Castiel complied immediately, and they both watched as Dean pulled closer to the house.

“Um, why am I invisible, Sam?” Castiel asked.

“Dean’s never had a surprise party in his life,” Sam replied. “This is as close as it’s gonna get.”

“Oh,” Castiel still did not really understand, but he trusted that Sam was more knowledgeable about birthdays than he was.

Dean finally parked and got out of the car, giving his brother a small smile as he approached.

“Hey Sammy,” he greeted, ruffling the younger man’s hair. “Uh, why are you standing in the yard by yourself?”

“Well, your surprise party wasn’t going to plan itself,” Sam said smugly.

Dean looked around in confusion, probably taking in the conspicuous lack of anything even remotely resembling a party.

“Apparently not,” he said dryly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Sam. “I got confetti…”

He stared pointedly at the area a few inches to the left of Castiel, and the angel realized that had been his cue. He concentrated, snapping two fingers softly. Tiny pieces of green and blue confetti began to fall around the boys. Dean looked up in amazement.

“What-?”

“I got balloons,” continued Sam.

This time, Castiel was quicker to respond, and soon Sam was holding three balloons by their ribbons. He stepped forward to tie one of them around his bemused brother’s wrist.

“I even got us party hats.”

And now Castiel was at a loss. He had absolutely no idea what a party hat was. So he tried his best.

The hat that appeared in Sam’s hands was made of hard yellow plastic, and had two cans of soda with long straws attached to it. The boys stared at it for a moment, then Sam burst out laughing.

“Close enough,” he said when he could speak again, dropping the hat onto Dean’s head.

He stepped back to admire their handiwork. Castiel titled his head, staring at Dean, who was standing there looking utterly baffled and amused, covered with confetti, a balloon around his wrist, and a drinkable hat on his head. If this was a typical human birthday, Castiel understood them even less than he had originally thought.

“And of course, I also brought the guest,” Sam added, managing to find Castiel’s ribs with his elbow. The angel took the hint, returning to his visible state. The smile that had been growing on Dean’s face widened blindingly. He pulled Castiel into a hug, and his excitement was so contagious that the angel did not even mind being hit in the face with a can of ginger ale.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” he said once the young man had released him.

“Thanks, Cas. You too, Sammy.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t actually bring him here, Dean,” Sam admitted. “He just showed up and we went with it.”

“I figured,” said Dean, deftly untying the balloon from around his wrist and securing it in one of his brother’s belt loops. “Thanks anyway.”

“Sure,” said Sam, batting at the balloon that was now attached to him.

“So, did these surprise party plans get any further than the ‘surprise’ stage?” asked Dean.

“Yes,” Castiel told him, placing his hands on the boys’ shoulders. “I’m taking you both out to lunch.”

He took wing, and the trip was more difficult than he had anticipated. The Winchesters were bigger now than they had been the last time he had tried this, and he was attempting to travel further. He had to exhaust more of his energy than he would have liked to pull them all safely through space, but eventually he was able to make a fairly smooth landing.

Sam and Dean were both silent for a moment as they took in their new surroundings, and Castiel was too busy trying not to let on how tired he was to say anything. But then Dean spoke.

“How did you know?” he asked softly.

Castiel glanced at the small food shack that they had appeared beside. It was set into a weather-beaten boardwalk that ran along a rocky gray beach, a few particularly resilient seagulls swooping overhead. He had had been here on one other occasion, several years in the future.

_“They’re your favorite, right? From that seaside shack in Delaware?”_

Castiel had been the one that Zachariah had sent to collect Dean’s food bribe when they were trying to get him ready for the apocalypse. Of course, he could not tell the current Dean that, so he just gave his friends an enigmatic smile.

The boys both sighed, but then Dean seemed to remember where they were. He dashed to the burger shack and rapped on the counter to get the attention of the bored looking girl behind it. She looked askance at the unorthodox hat that he was still wearing, but apparently made no comment on it. Dean’s smile was a thing of beauty as he ordered burgers for the three of them.

They sat down at a picnic table to eat, and Castiel faced away from the ocean, his wings spread and semi-manifested to give the Winchesters some protection against the biting January wind. The boys chattered as they ate, bringing Castiel up to speed on what their lives had been like since the last time they saw him.

As he watched them talk and tease each other, the angel was swept with a sudden wave of affection and contentment. This was family. This was what he had rebelled for, and it was worth it. And when Dean leaned casually across the table to rest a hand on Castiel’s arm, the wave turned into a storm, and he knew without a doubt that the heart he had not always known he possessed had been claimed completely.

Once they had finished eating, Sam stood abruptly.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” he announced. Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“You sure?” he asked.

Sam nodded and set off, but Dean stood to stop him.

“Hey, wait up,” he said, plucking the drinking hat from his head and placing it on his brother’s with an impish grin. “In case you get thirsty.”

Castiel smiled at Sam’s expression. He believed that Dean had once described it as his bitchface. But then the boy just sniffed haughtily, smirked at Dean, and started walking along the water.

“Be careful!” Dean called to his retreating brother.

Sam just waved a hand at him without bothering to turn back.

“It’s the beach, Dean!” he shouted.

Dean snorted and shook his head.

“Maybe, but that kid could find trouble in a convent,” he muttered.

“He’ll be fine,” said Castiel.

“Yeah, I know. Old habits, I guess.”

Dean reached for Castiel’s hand, pulling him up before leading him closer to the water. They stood on the shore in silence for a while, watching the steely gray waves rushing in and out as clouds swirled above them. Dean leaned against the angel, though whether it was for warmth or simply because he desired the contact, Castiel could not tell. Not that he minded either way.

He glanced sideways, noticing a few bits of confetti still clinging to Dean’s hair. He brushed them away carefully, and the two of them watched the pieces of paper get blown into the surf and washed away. Castiel was reminded of his first meeting with this younger Dean, when the grass behind the Elwood County Elementary School had taken the brunt of the boy’s embarrassed anger, and bits of greenery had flown everywhere. He wondered if Dean was remembering that as well.

Dean chuckled softly.

“What?” asked Castiel, his lips twitching automatically into a smile of their own.

“Nothing. It’s just, we’ve only been on the beach together twice, but it’ll still always remind me of you.”

“Oh.” Castiel turned his gaze back out towards the sea. He remembered that afternoon with Dean in Cape Disappointment, the day he had disentangled their essences and realized that perhaps the two of them could be something more. It was a happy memory for him. “It seems like a nice thing to be remembered by.”

“Yeah.”

Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand and looked down at his toes, which he was wriggling in the sand, despite the chill. He took a deep breath, and Castiel felt a sudden surge of nervousness emanating from him.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

“I was just wondering…” Dean began, looking like he was trying to build up his courage. “You’ve given me a birthday present already, but I was kind of hoping for one more thing.”

“Name it.”

“Would you mind…I mean, would it be all right if I kissed you?”

The last words came out in a rush, and they sent Castiel’s usually quite adroit brain into a confused buzz. He had not been expecting this, though he realized now that he probably should have. Dean was older now, more mature. He desired things that adults desired, including physical contact. But did Castiel have the right to give them to him?

Some of Castiel’s shock must have registered with Dean, because his face fell and he looked away in embarrassment.

“It’s okay, Cas,” he muttered. “You don’t have to-”

But the angel finally got over his surprise and indecision. He was not taking away Dean’s choice. He had simply been there, and Dean had chosen him. And now he was choosing Dean. He leaned forward and turned the hunter’s face towards his with a gentle hand, and then pressed his lips firmly to Dean’s.

Whatever expectations Castiel may have had, they were utterly different from the reality of this first kiss. It was…full; full of more than the angel had ever thought that a kiss could contain. It was full of all of the feelings that had been growing in Castiel every day, full of the love and fear and hope that he’d had no idea of how to express in words. It was full of endings and beginnings and a thousand stories waiting to be told.

When it was finally over, when Dean and Castiel pulled away from each other an eternity and a microsecond later, both were speechless for a moment. But at last, Castiel felt peace. His grace hummed within him, warmed by the contact with Dean’s soul. He could see the same contentment reflected in the green eyes just inches from him, pushing away any residual fear or uncertainty.

“Um…” was all Dean said, and suddenly Castiel was worried. He had no presumptions that this had been Dean’s first kiss, but it may have been his first one with a man. What if he was disgusted by it? What if Castiel had misunderstood what Dean wanted?

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

“No!” said Dean quickly. “No, Cas. That was…here.”

He pulled the angel’s hand up to his chest, and Castiel could feel the thrumming of Dean’s heart, a bit faster than he was used to.

“Do you feel that?” Dean asked. “Do you feel _me_? Because I can feel you, Cas. You’re glowing like a beacon. Just…just listen.”

Castiel suddenly understood that he was talking about their bond, realized that his emotions had been broadcasting through it. So he felt for the other half of himself, opening himself up to what Dean was feeling.

The force of Dean’s emotions was breathtaking. Castiel had been happy before, but now he was downright elated. Because Dean felt the same way.

“Oh,” he said.

Dean grinned, taking Castiel’s hand from his chest and kissing his knuckles.

“It’s official,” he said. “This is definitely my best birthday to date.”

“Sam will be happy,” Castiel said.

“I’m not sure this is what he had in mind,” Dean chuckled.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Castiel, thinking back to the look of utter relief is Sam’s eyes when he had seen the angel, the way that he eyed him and Dean meaningfully, the way that he had conveniently left them alone after they had all finished eating. “I think your brother sees more than you realize.”

“Yeah, I guess he does,” said Dean with a smile full of tenderness for his brother. “Annoying that way, isn’t he?”

“I suppose that someone has to be the observant one.”

“I guess so.”

“Well, shall we go tell him that his matchmaking efforts have paid off?” Castiel asked.

“In a minute,” said Dean, leaning forward with a sly smile. “I want them to pay off a little more first.”

It wound up being a while before Sam got the news.

ooooooooooooo

When Sam returned from his walk to find his brother and the angel holding hands, he simply gave them both a self-satisfied smile. He punched his brother lightly on the shoulder and sat down next to him, winking at Castiel, who gave him a grateful smile in return.

The three of them spent a few more hours on the beach, throwing around a dented Frisbee that Sam had found on his walk or daring each other unsuccessfully to brave the freezing water, only leaving when Sam and Dean got too cold as the sun began to sink in the sky. The return trip was just as taxing on Castiel as the one there had been, but the angel had gotten used to the bone-deep fatigue, and he managed to hide his exhaustion.

When they got back to the house, Sam gave Castiel a hug and a whispered ‘thank you’, before vanishing inside. That left Dean and Castiel alone in the yard, facing each other in the dwindling light. Dean smiled at his angel.

“I had an amazing day, Cas,” he said sincerely.

“As did I.”

Dean smile widened, and he took one of Castiel’s hands in both of his own. But then his face became a bit more serious.

“I know this doesn’t change everything,” he said. “You’re still gonna be gone too much, I’m still gonna miss you. But I’m okay with that, as long as…”

“As long as what?” Castiel prompted when Dean did not continue.

“As long as I know that this means the same thing to you as it does to me. And…as long as I know that you won’t make me lose you for good.”

Castiel was torn. Not for the first time, but certainly the most seriously, he considered just staying permanently, remaining with the Winchesters and accompanying them on their travels. He would still have Sam and Dean, and he could prevent the apocalypse in real time instead of trying to pick up the pieces. And what he had here felt too good, too right, to continue to run away from it.

He opened his mouth to tell Dean that he was going to stay. But the words would not come out. Because he was looking at one Dean, but seeing another. He was seeing the Dean whose soul he had pulled from hell, the Dean who had treated him like a human being for the first time, the Dean who had looked him in the eyes and challenged him to be better and been there to catch him when he failed.

There were many theories about time travel. Some thought that changing the past caused reality to split, creating two separate and distinct timelines. Others thought that changes to the past erased the old future and wrote a new one. Still others believed that there was no real changing of the past, because they had always been a part of reality and therefore had already happened. Castiel was not quite sure what he believed, but he did know that if there was any reality or timeline where the lives of the Dean and Sam Winchester that he had first met were in danger, he would find it, and he would help them. Once he did that, he could return here, return to the Dean who had known him since childhood and apparently loved him anyway.

He leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to the still unfamiliar territory of Dean’s lips.

“I can assure you, Dean Winchester,” he said solemnly once he broke away. “That I do not take this relationship lightly. You are more important to me than your limited language has words to convey, and you always will be.”

He felt Dean’s soul pulse at those words, but it was still not quite enough.

“And the second part?”

Castiel sighed.

“Everything I do is to return to you,” he said. It was the best he could do.

Dean stared at Castiel for a long moment, reminding the angel of many such situations from the future. He had always been amazed by how communicative the hunter’s eyes were, and he could never seem to stop himself from getting lost in them when they were fixed on him like this. Dean’s young eyes held hints of the melancholy that his older self occasionally drowned in, but they also contained hope and excitement and a tenderness that took Castiel’s breath away.

“Then I will see you later,” Dean said softly.

He pulled the angel in for one last kiss, then turned walk into the house, waving once before he shut the door behind him.

Castiel watched him go, feeling a tugging emptiness in his chest. He tried to shake it off promising himself that this could end well as he let himself be carried away by time once more.

He should have known better.


	10. Chapter 10

The angel’s next visits took him everywhere from a small library in Missouri, to a deep woods Wendigo hunt, to Sam’s middle school science fair. He continued to bounce erratically around Dean’s timeline, wondering if there would ever be an end to the constant travel. While he enjoyed spending time with the boys, he wished he could be doing something constructive for them, or feel like he was getting any closer to the versions of them that he had lost.

But his next destination helped to distract him from his agitation.

It took Castiel a moment to realize why the surroundings that had appeared around him were so familiar. But as he took in the dock he was standing on, stretching out into a serene lake surrounded by whispering trees, he remembered. He had been here once in Dean’s dream, what seemed like an eternity ago. The colors had been more muted then, the air more somber, but it was definitely the same place. He had not realized that it was a real location.

Dean was sitting at the edge of the dock, his feet dangling in the water.

“And here I thought this day couldn’t get any better,” he said, and Castiel could hear the smile in his voice even though the young man did not turn around.

“Hello Dean,” he said, walking forward to sit beside the hunter.

Dean leaned in for a kiss, which told Castiel quite pleasantly that this was after his nineteenth birthday, and the developments thereof.

“Hello, yourself,” Dean said when they broke apart.

“When is this?” Castiel asked, glancing around once more. He could see a small house on a small hill in the distance, but not much else.

“July 17th, 1998,” Dean rattled off. “We’re in Colorado. Dad’s on one of his mysterious solo outings, Sam’s at summer camp, and I have the day to myself.”

“This seems like a pleasant spot,” Castiel remarked.

“Yeah, it’s nice. Some family owns the house up the hill, but they have a beach house for the summer, so we’re, uh, squatting.”

“I see. Well, it seems like someone should make use of the house.”

Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s what Dad tells Sam every time the kid worries about it. Usually works.”

He glanced down at Castiel’s feet, which the angel was carefully keeping out of the murky water.

“It won’t burn you, you know,” he said with a smirk. “Relax a little; stick your feet in. It feels nice.”

Somewhat dubiously, Castiel removed his shoes and socks for the first time since his car accident. Dean showed him how to roll up the cuffs of his pants to keep them dry, and then he cautiously lowered his feet into the water.

He smiled at the surprisingly pleasant sensation of the cool water swirling over his skin. Dean grinned at him.

“I told you,” he said, bumping the angel’s shoulder with his own.

“Yes, your suggestions have gotten better since the licorice incident,” said Castiel, wanting to hear the rare and beautiful sound of Dean’s mirth. He was not disappointed.

“Let it go, dude,” Dean laughed.

“I’m not sure you appreciate how traumatic that experience was for me.”

Dean just shook his head. Then his face took on a mildly alarming speculative look.

“If you’re still open to suggestions…”

“What?”

“I happen to know for a fact that this lake is great for swimming.”

“Why is that relevant?”

“I’m suggesting that you go swimming with me, Cas.”

“For what purpose?”

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“For fun, Cas. You do know what fun is?”

Did he? Castiel had been enjoying his time with the Winchesters. He supposed that counted as fun. But while he had gone swimming before, it had never been for pleasure. Then again, he had never tried eating for pleasure before he met Dean, and he had liked that.

“Okay,” he said.

He stood, about to leap into the water when Dean stopped him with a chuckle.

“Whoa there, buddy,” he said. “You might want to lose the threads first.”

Castiel glanced down at his clothes, then back up at Dean.

“Why?” he asked. “I can dry them off afterwards.”

Dean just rolled his eyes again.

“Come on,” he said, tugging at the trench coat until Castiel let him remove it. “You are gonna do things like a normal person for once.”

Castiel relented, shedding his clothes until he was down to his underwear. Dean did the same, then glanced back at the angel.

“Huh,” he said.

“What now?”

“Nothing. I just figured you for more of a briefs guy.”

Castiel had no idea what that meant, so he elected to ignore it.

“Am I allowed to get in the water now?” he asked, and Dean smirked at the grumpiness in his tone.

“Be my guest.”

The angel stepped unceremoniously into the water, head dipping momentarily beneath the surface. He looked back up at Dean, who was still watching him from the dock.

“How’s the water?” Dean asked.

“Wet.”

“Good enough for me,” the young man said with a grin.

He jumped in, and Castiel strongly suspected that the tremendous amount of water splashed on him was deliberate. Dean surfaced, grinning at the angel.

“Well?” he asked as he treaded water. “What do you think?”

In truth, Castiel was rather indifferent to the swimming. Yes, the water felt nice on his skin, but he still did not see the purpose of it. But watching Dean swim was another matter entirely. The young man’s face was light and happy, and that was more than enough for Castiel.

“It’s pleasant,” he said contentedly.

Apparently Dean took that as a challenge, because he felt the need to spray Castiel with as much water as possible. The angel felt perfectly justified in using his powers to send a tidal wave crashing into Dean as retaliation.

The two of them stayed in the water until Dean got tired, and then returned to the dock, where Castiel dried them both off with a touch of his fingers. They redressed, and then Castiel followed Dean into the house, where they watched movies together until Sam came home.

ooooooooooooo

Castiel’s ears were assaulted by the loud bangs of gunfire when he landed next. He was instantly on high alert, but relaxed a moment later when he looked around and realized that he was at a shooting range. He could see Dean and John at one of the stations, the older hunter reaching down to correct his son’s form. Sam was sitting a few feet away, looking utterly bored. None of them had seen the angel yet.

Castiel was about to approach Sam in order to keep him company, but then he felt a terrifyingly familiar presence behind him.

He whirled around, letting his angel blade drop into his grasp.

Uriel raised his hands peacefully.

“Easy there, Castiel. I mean you no harm,” he said.

Castiel did not believe it for a moment, but he also did not want to start an angelic fight a dozen yards from the Winchesters. He realized that Uriel had made himself invisible, so he did the same. The angels could still see each other though.

“What are you doing here, Uriel?” he asked, every muscle in his body tense.

“A question I should be asking you… _Cas_.” The other angel’s tone was mocking as he used the familiar nickname. “I always knew that you were a human lover, but this…I have been watching you, Castiel. I know how often you visit your pets.”

“They are not my pets,” said Castiel angrily.

“What then? Your _friends_?”

Castiel bristled at the disdain and contempt in Uriel’s voice.

“You know nothing of friendship. And I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” said Uriel. “I know that you are not the Castiel of now. You came to the past with Anna. And she told me that these humans you have been associating with would be the ones to kill me in the future.”

“And then Michael killed her. What does that tell you? She was lying, Uriel. The Winchesters are not a threat to you. But I will be, if you even try going anywhere near them.”

Uriel raised his eyebrows.

“You would fight your own brother to protect them?”

Castiel snorted. As if Uriel had any right to call him brother. He vividly remembered the other angel, sword raised to take his life, simply because Castiel would not ally himself with Uriel’s treacherous cause.

“In a heartbeat,” he answered firmly. “Now leave.”

Uriel shook his head.

“What happened to you, Castiel?” he asked. Castiel said nothing, and Uriel sighed. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll just have to find out the long way. I’ll be watching you closely.”

Castiel simply stared him down until he left with a disgruntled ruffling of feathers. The only evidence of his visit was the feeling of extreme disquiet in Castiel’s gut.

Other angels were noticing him, and that could not be a good thing. There was a reason that angels did not casually walk the earth. They made waves, they drew attention. And the last thing Castiel wanted was to draw more supernatural attention to the Winchesters. They had enough on them as it was.

Castiel resolved to keep a closer watch over his family, prepared to issue more threats if need be. He decided to keep his distance for this visit, watching invisibly as Dean’s lesson ended and John beckoned the reluctant Sam forward for his turn with the gun.

As soon as he was well rested enough, he took off again.

ooooooooooooo

When Castiel landed this time, it did not take him long to realize that something was terribly wrong. He was in another motel room, and there was a taint of evil in the air that would always be familiar, even though he had not felt it for months.

“I’m not going to ask you again, Johnny,” said an unfamiliar male voice. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know who you mean!” The other voice came from a man that Castiel recognized as John Winchester. The hunter was clutching a small and terrified Sam in his arms, staring up at a demon.

“The angel, you idiot!” the demon shouted. “His stench is all over your brats. Now tell me where he is, or I will gut your pretty little boys.”

Castiel had heard enough. He threw himself at the demon, bringing his hand to its forehead and screwing his face up in concentration. He felt the familiar rush of holy power rise up within him, and the demon’s essence burned away into nothing, the human shell it had been inhabiting dropping to the ground. Unfortunately, Castiel dropped along with it, having used more energy than he really had to spare.

He did not lose consciousness though, which meant that he was aware of the rather sinister gun that John Winchester was pointing in his direction.

“Who the hell are you?” he shouted. “How did…? That was a demon. What _are_ you?”

Castiel struggled to his feet and stepped forward.

“John Winchester,” he greeted. “I am a friend. You need not fear me.”

He did not think that he looked particularly threatening at the moment anyway. He moved forward to check on Sam, who was cowering on the bed. If that demon had done something to him…

“How do you know my name?” asked John angrily. Castiel ignored him, not having the patience for explanations. “Stay the hell away from my boys!”

There were three loud bangs, and Castiel staggered to a halt, staring down at the holes that bullets had just torn in his chest. He sank to his knees, gasping.

“Dad, wait!” Castiel could barely hear Dean’s young voice over the sudden roaring in his ears. “Cas saved us.”

John stared down at his son for a moment, then glanced back at Castiel, who was trying to will the holes in his chest to heal. The angel was terrified by how weak he had gotten. A year ago, those bullets would not even have penetrated his skin. Now he could not even get the blood to stop flowing from his chest. But at least he was not dead, which could not have been said for most humans with his injuries.

“Ah, that went well,” he muttered, poking angrily at his slowly shrinking wounds. “Like father like son.”

Actually, Dean had stabbed Castiel as well as shot him. The angel really hoped that John did not try the same thing. The bullet wounds were unpleasant enough.

“Dean, stay with Sammy,” John barked, not taking his suspicious gaze from Castiel.

He grabbed the angel by the arm, hauling him up and dragging him outside. Castiel did not resist, partly because he did not have the energy, and partly because he did not want to fight with John in front of Sam and Dean, who had suffered enough trauma for one day.

“Talk,” demanded John once he and Castiel were out of the boys’ hearing range.

“I’m an angel of the Lord.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then you are even more close-minded than I thought,” said Castiel impatiently. “You just saw me smite a demon in front of you, and survive three kill shots to the chest. What more proof do you need?”

“Maybe demons can kill other demons like that. And they can sure as hell survive gunshot wounds. I know that one from experience.”

Castiel sighed.

“I don’t suppose you have any holy water on you?” he asked. The test had been enough to convince Bobby Singer.

“If I had holy water on me, do you think I would have been having problems with that demon in there?”

Castiel was surprised by John’s carelessness. Then again, judging by his evident youth, this was fairly early in his hunting career.

“Then perhaps you could recite an exorcism,” he suggested.

John considered that, then nodded. He spoke the words from memory, and when Castiel remained unfazed through it, his face slackened in amazement. Then it tightened up again in anger.

“So that demon was after you,” he hissed. “You’ve been hanging around my sons, and a demon almost killed us to get to you.”

John’s words hit Castiel with numbing force. He was right.

“I’m s-”

“No! I don’t want apologies; I want an explanation. Just being an angel isn’t good enough. I want to know who you are and why you’ve been around my boys.”

“I’m a friend of theirs.”

“Bullshit. Dean is nine, Sammy is barely five; they don’t have friends your age, and they sure as hell don’t have friends who are supernatural creatures.”

“I suppose you’re right. But I know them from the future, when they are considerably older.”

John just stared at Castiel for a moment. Then he snorted.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” he asked.

“Not really, but it’s the truth.”

“You can’t be…” John blinked, and his face paled inexplicably. “Wait. Dean called you Cas. Is that short for something?”

“My full name is Castiel,” the angel told him.

John swayed, then leaned against the wall of the motel, rubbing a hand across his face, his eyes wide and staring at nothing.

“Does that mean something to you?” Castiel asked. He supposed it was a foolish question. John’s face made it painfully obvious that it meant something.

“Mary…” John said softly. He looked up at the angel. “You knew my wife.”

“Yes,” said Castiel, wondering where this was going.

“She told me about you.”

“She did?” asked Castiel, surprised.

“Well, not exactly. She just…every once in a while she would mention that the boys had a guardian angel. I didn’t think she meant it literally, so I indulged her. It was a nice story to tell Dean when he got scared. But then she got in a car accident. Just a small one, nothing serious, but it scared her, reminded her that she was mortal, I guess. She told me that if anything happened to her, I could trust a man named Castiel. She wouldn’t say anything more, but…she was talking about you?”

Castiel bowed his head, shame rushing through him. Mary had trusted him that much, and he had still let her down, still let her die. But not her boys though. Never her boys.

“Yes,” he said softly. “She was talking about me.”

“How long have you been watching my family?” John whispered. “How long have you been creeping in the shadows?”

“On and off since Mary was pregnant with Dean.”

Castiel was utterly unsurprised by the punch that John landed on his face. He probably deserved it. John grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him closer.

“What the hell kind of guardian angel are you?” he asked angrily, brokenly.

“John…”

“I watched her burn on the ceiling, Castiel! Where were you then?”

“You must understand, my power over time is imprecise,” the angel said. “My visits are usually only a few hours long, and none of them corresponded with the night that Mary was killed. I had no way of being there to protect her.”

“You could have warned her!”

“Yes. I could have.”

And though Castiel had been meeting John’s gaze throughout the entire conversation, he had to look away at that point. The hunter released him abruptly.

“So why didn’t you?” he asked, and the fight had left his voice, though not the anger and sadness.

“Because it would not have achieved anything. Words alone would not have been enough to save Mary Winchester.”

“Why?”

“Because the power of destiny is stronger than any words I could have given her.”

Dean had proven that with his first trip back in time. Destiny and fate were so strong in the lives of the Winchesters that Castiel was amazed he had managed to change as much as he had. But averting the catalyst that shaped the lives of Sam and Dean? Castiel knew that he had no chance. But he had not even tried.

John ran a hand through his hair, looking distraught and scared.

“Why her? Why us? Why do we matter?” he asked.

Castiel sighed.

“I can’t tell you that,” he said regretfully. “But I can tell you that your sons are very important, and there are many…interested parties.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you need to be more careful,” said Castiel. “Do you know a man by the name of Robert Singer?”

“Singer? No, I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s a hunter, a very knowledgeable one. He will teach you more about what you need to know. And he is trustworthy. The Dean and Sam that I know consider him to be family.”

John looked surprised at that.

“Yeah? How far in the future did you say you were from?”

“So you believe in time travel now?” asked Castiel, impatient with this conversation. John scowled at him.

“I’m keeping an open mind,” he hedged.

“I came originally from the year 2010, but I’ve traveled considerably since then.”

John blew a breath out through his nose, leaning against the wall again.

“And they’re…they’re good, they’re okay?” he asked. “The boys, I mean.”

Castiel sighed. Mary had asked him the same question, but he was still no better prepared for it.

“I do my best to look out for them,” he said, and John raised an eyebrow.

“You care to elaborate on that?” he invited.

“I have to be careful, John,” Castiel told him grimly. “Time is fluid and fragile, and too much foreknowledge is dangerous.”

John did not look happy about that, but he nodded. Castiel was simply glad that he had not asked about his own fate. He did not relish the idea of telling John that his soul would spend a hundred years in hell under the attention of its most proficient torturer.

“Fine, but tell me this. If you could tell me to find this Robert Singer, then can you tell me what killed my wife?”

“I can tell you that you will find out eventually.”

John grimaced in frustration, but he did not press further, for which the angel was grateful. Castiel glanced at the door to the motel room.

“Your sons must be upset,” he said gently. “You should go to them.”

John winced.

“Yeah. God, I don’t know how I’m going to deal with Sammy. He’s only five; he doesn’t know about any of this. _Didn’t_ know.”

Castiel was impressed by John’s desire to protect his son’s innocence.

“I might be able to do something about that,” he offered.

“Really?”

“Yes. Angels have a certain power over the human mind. I would be able to wipe the encounter with the demon from Sam’s mind. He would not remember it.”

“Castiel, I don’t think…”

“Your son has a hard road ahead of him, John,” Castiel said gravely. “Let me give him a few more years of innocence.”

The hunter looked torn.

“Would it hurt him?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

“What about Dean?”

“Dean is old enough to choose whether or not to keep these memories.”

John sighed, and Castiel could see the crushing weight in his eyes.

“Tell me something, Castiel,” he said. “Why did my wife trust you so much?”

“Because this is not the first time I’ve helped your family, John. Do you remember when Dean was an infant, and he fell gravely ill?”

John’s eyes widened.

“That was you? You healed him?”

“Yes.”

“The doctors said it was a miracle…”

“It was. I just happened to be the deliverer of it. Your wife was there. She saw me save your son, saw that it nearly cost me my life.”

“It almost killed you? Why?”

“As I mentioned before, I am not at full strength. I had to use my own life force to heal Dean, and it drained me dangerously. Mary knew what I was, and how devoted I was to protecting her sons. That is why she trusted me, and why you can trust me as well.”

John looked so lost that Castiel felt a surge of pity for him.

“Do it,” the hunter said eventually. “Help Sam.”

Castiel nodded, and then went to pull the motel door open. John stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” he said.

“What is it?”

“I don’t trust easily, Castiel, and that goes for you too. The only reason I’m even giving you a chance is because my wife vouched for you, and you just saved my sons. But don’t think I’ve forgotten that you saved us from something that was after you in the first place. If you hurt my family, or if I think that you’re putting them in more danger, I will find a way to kill you.”

The angel did not doubt John Winchester’s sincerity for a moment. If anyone else had threatened him like that, he would have been reaching for his sword, but in this case he was simply grateful that John was being so protective of his children.

“I understand,” he said, and John nodded, releasing him so that he could go back into the motel room.

They entered to find Dean standing protectively in front of Sam, shotgun raised.

“It’s all right, Dean,” Castiel told him. “You’re safe now.”

Dean relaxed slightly, but he looked to his father for confirmation before lowering the gun entirely. He glanced back at his brother, who was still sitting on the bed, crying silently. John walked quickly to his youngest, scooping the boy into his arms.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy,” he soothed.

“Dad?” Dean said, and Castiel hated the tremor of fear in his young voice.

“It’s all right, Dean. Castiel is gonna help Sammy, and then we’re both gonna make sure nothing like this happens again. Isn’t that right?”

The last bit was directed at Castiel, who nodded firmly. He crouched down to meet Dean’s uncertain gaze.

“I’m going to take away your brother’s memories of this so that he won’t be frightened anymore,” he told the boy. “Is that all right?”

Castiel knew that Dean would have wanted a decision like that to go through him, even if it had already been made. Dean looked back and forth between Sam and the angel, and then nodded once.

“Good. I can do the same for you, if you would like.”

Dean gulped, glancing down at the burnt out body that was still crumpled on the floor. Then he looked back at his father, whose face was impassive. Dean wrapped his arms around himself tightly.

“I don’t want to remember,” he said. “But I have to. I can’t be unprepared if this happens again.”

Castiel sighed. Some part of him had always known that that would be Dean’s decision, but the idea of the nine year old needing to keep a constant eye out for nightmares was painful. But he nodded anyway, and then walked over to the bed where John and Sam were sitting. He smiled down at Sam, who just stared up at him silently, either terrified past the point of words or trusting of his father’s judgment. Castiel hoped it was the latter. The boy had suffered enough fear for one day. Dean watched with wide eyes as the angel placed his hand on Sam’s forehead, but made no move to stop him.

Castiel pulled in a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing carefully. He delved into Sam’s consciousness, searching through his chaotic, childish mind for the scraps of memory that had been tainted by the demon. He gathered them all together, condensing them into a tiny bead that he hid away in the furthest corner of Sam’s mind that he could find, tucking it behind a carefully constructed barrier. He also let a wave of peace wash through Sam, and then opened his eyes with a sigh.

“He’ll sleep for a while,” he told John and Dean.

“And he won’t remember any of this?” John checked.

“No. He won’t remember me either yet. He’ll have a few more years of peace.”

Castiel smoothed Sam’s hair back from his forehead and then stood.

“I should go,” he said. “Remember what I told you.”

John nodded. Castiel gave Dean a reassuring smile, then spread his wings and propelled himself out of that dimension.

What started out as a normal flight became anything but when Castiel was jarred to a painful halt by razor claws sinking into his tender wings. He cried out at he was yanked back to reality, gasping in pain when he was thrown to the ground and pinned in place.

He reached for his sword, but it was kicked from his hand. He heard a vile chuckle from above him, and then a grotesquely smiling face entered his line of sight.

“Well, hey there, angel,” the demon said. “Never thought I’d get a chance like this.”

Though Castiel had only seen this particular demon on one other occasion, he recognized the rotting, twisted face not quite hidden behind the stolen human one. More specifically, he recognized those glowing, lamplike eyes. They were the trademark of the demon responsible for so much suffering in the lives of the people Castiel cared for.

“Azazel,” he spat, twisting in the demon’s grasp. But Lucifer’s chosen had him pinned too tightly. The demon had teeth and claws that existed on the same plane as the angel’s wings, and he was using them, as well as his inherent telekinesis. The fact that Castiel’s strength was at its lowest after his flight did not help matters either.

He looked around, taking in the stained cinderblock walls and barred windows of what looked like an abandoned jail. There was a table of tools in the corner that the angel did not like the look of, and nothing that looked like it would aid him in an escape.

He gasped as he was thrown through the air again and pinned upright to one of the walls, wings splayed behind him like those of a dead insect on display.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” oozed Azazel, ignoring Castiel’s inspection. “I don’t know your name. Then again, I don’t actually care what you’re called. I care that you’ve been hanging around what belongs to me.”

“Sam Winchester does not belong to you,” Castiel hissed furiously, knowing immediately what the demon was talking about. “He never has, and he never will.”

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Azazel’s tone was conversational, but his eyes were steely. “Sam is mine, and he is important to me. And I protect what is important to me.”

“So do I,” said Castiel.

“And therein lies our problem,” Azazel returned. He dug his claws back into Castiel’s wings, drawing an involuntary scream from the angel. “You see, I don’t like angels, and I don’t like them interfering in my plans.”

“Are you going to kill me then?” panted Castiel. “Because that’s the only way you’ll stop me from protecting Sam.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s quite true,” said Azazel with a sickening smirk. “I’m not stupid, or reckless. Much as I’d like nothing more than to tear your broken wings off like a moth’s, I know the consequences of killing an angel, even one as pathetic as you, and I’d rather not deal with them. But I won’t have to kill you.”

“Oh?”

“No. You see, I’ve been having my people watch you for a while. And the things they’ve seen…I must say, I didn’t believe my guy at first when he told me. An angel in love with a human? I didn’t think it was possible. But it’s true, isn’t it?”

Castiel glowered up at the demon, saying nothing as cold dread seeped through him. Azazel smiled again.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “So here’s the deal: you stay away from the Winchesters, and I’ll stay away from Dean. You continue to be the angel on their shoulders, and I will hand Dean over to hell’s finest torturer.”

“You can’t send an innocent soul to hell.”

“No, but I can bring Alistair up here. He’ll whine, of course, but I think he’d enjoy the challenge of working on someone like Dean.”

A chill swept through Castiel. He knew that the demon would not hesitate to carry out his threat. He also knew that there was no way he would ever let Dean fall into Alistair’s hands again. He had seen the aftermath of that one too many times already. But how could he leave the Winchesters knowing about the demonic threat hanging over them constantly? How could he abandon Sam to the fate that Azazel had planned for him?

It was simple: he could not.

Wings be damned, he threw himself upward with all the strength he had left, shouting in agony as claws shredded his tender flesh, but not letting the pain distract him. He pushed Azazel back, pressing his palm to the creature’s forehead and summoning energy he did not have.

Azazal just laughed as the smiting attempt fizzled into nothing and Castiel collapsed back to the ground, bleeding and utterly exhausted. The demon slashed his claws against the angel’s face, opening three deep gashes in his skin just to show that he could. Then he crouched down beside Castiel, not even bothering to hold him in place anymore.

“I can see you’re still conflicted,” said Azazel. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

He snapped his fingers. A moment later, the door banged open and another demon entered, dragging a wildly struggling Dean, the oldest Castiel had ever seen him in the past.

“Let him go,” Castiel rasped immediately, struggling to sit up. Azazel rolled his eyes, flicking a hand back carelessly and sending Castiel sliding across the floor to be pinned against the wall again.

“I’d be happy to,” the demon said. “As long as you agree to my terms.”

“Cas?” asked Dean, who had finally stopped fighting and was taking in the situation.

“It’s going to be all right, Dean,” the angel said, although he was in no position to be making such promises.

“Yeah, don’t worry there Dean-o,” said Azazel, his attention focusing on the hunter. “Your little guardian angel will make things all better. Oh wait, that’s right; he’s useless. Heaven sent you one of their rejects. There’s only one thing little Cassie can do for you.”

Dean’s eyes widened in fear and rage as recognition flickered across his features.

“You,” he hissed, presumably recognizing the demon by his distinctive eyes. “You’re the one who-”

“Who toasted your mommy on the ceiling? Yep. But that’s not important.”

“Not important? You killed my mom, you son of a bitch!”

Dean lunged forward, but he did not get very far. The demon that had brought him in flung him back, and Azazel held up a hand, holding the hunter effortlessly in place without touching him.

“No. Not important,” the demon repeated. “You see, this isn’t about you. You just happened to be the most convenient leverage available.”

Azazel cast a glance back at Castiel, eyebrow raised in invitation.

“No,” the angel growled. “I will not abandon them to your horrific machinations.”

“What does that mean?” Dean asked desperately. “Cas, what’s going on?”

Castiel was not quite sure how to answer that, but Azazel did not give him the chance anyway. The demon simply focused on Dean, and a moment later the hunter began to scream.

“Dean!” Castiel shouted uselessly.

The angel stared in horror at the rivulets of blood that had appeared over Dean’s heart and begun to run down his torso. So much for handing him over to Alistair. Apparently Azazel was willing to forgo the finesse of the expert in favor of immediate results.

The sight of Dean’s face twisted in agony gave Castiel the strength he needed to break free of Azazel’s power. He threw himself forward, stooping to grab his blade from where it had fallen, and raised it to plunge into the demon’s chest. It found its mark, but in the wrong demon, the one that had brought Dean here, who had thrown itself in front of its master.

Though Castiel freed his blade before the demon’s life force had even stopped flickering out, he still was not fast enough to be prepared for Azazel’s next strike. The terrifyingly powerful demon flung Castiel back into the wall, the impact jarring his sword from his grip. He smiled at Castiel as he dug his claws into the angel’s abdomen.

Castiel could not contain the scream of pain that tore from him, the agony of the physical damage increased a thousand fold by the toxic taint of the demon. He was vaguely aware of Dean shouting something, but all he could focus on was Azazel, the source of his torment.

“This can end now, angel,” the demon whispered calmly into his ear. “Or I can torture your boyfriend to death. And if that’s still not enough, I will risk any heavenly backlash that killing you might invoke. Don’t think for a second that I won’t, because Sam Winchester is invaluable to me and to plans that have been in motion for centuries, and you are _nothing_.”

He twisted his claws to drive home his point, and Castiel gasped. He looked past the demon to meet Dean’s frantic gaze. The young man was relatively unharmed, for now. But if Azazel was willing to torture an angel, what would he do to a mere human? Castiel thought he knew.

Castiel would die for Dean, had done so in the past. But in this case, his death would serve no purpose. But his acquiescence would come at such a cost. He knew what a future without him held for Sam and Dean. But surely it was better than no future at all?

Castiel closed his eyes and bowed his head, and if angels could weep, he would have done so at that moment. When he looked back up at Azazel, the demon smiled, reading the defeat in his eyes.

“You will let him go,” the angel stated.

“Sure. I don’t care about him, but he’s always pushing little Sammy to improve his skills, make himself more useful. There’s no point in getting rid of him now. Besides, I need to have him available in case you try to pull a fast one on me. Your pet will be fine, as long as you hold up your end.”

Castiel had begun to suspect that he would not even live through his end, so he supposed the demon had nothing to worry about. He glowered at the demon, letting all of his hatred and rage and agony channel through his gaze. Azazel just chuckled.

“I’m so glad we understand each other,” he said. “Bye now.”

With that, he removed his claws and his supernatural grip, allowing Castiel to collapse to the floor. The angel found that he could not move; his wings were too shredded for that.

“Cas!” he heard Dean shout. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Castiel assumed that second part had been directed at Azazel, because the angel had certainly done nothing. He could not even find his voice to offer Dean false reassurances. He heard Azazel sigh, and he cried out again as the demon grabbed him again, before flinging him unceremoniously back into the raw power of the timestream. The last thing he saw was Dean’s horrified face, before he was lost in a plane of existence in which eyes were useless.

Castiel floundered, buffeted on all sides as he tried uselessly to control his flight with his devastated wings. He struggled to maintain his grip on the familiarity of Dean’s timeline, his only anchor in the violent tide raging around him. But his power was at an all time low, and the commitment that he had made to keep Dean safe mandated what he did next.

Anywhere he went, Azazel would have demons on the lookout for him, demons who would kill Dean the second they saw the angel. So with a prayer to the God he was not sure cared, Castiel did the only thing left to him. He let go of his connection to Dean, setting himself adrift in a sea with no shore.


	11. Chapter 11

When Castiel had been trained in time manipulation millennia ago, his instructors had stressed the dangers of traveling without an anchor or destination. Letting oneself go, as Castiel had, was almost certain suicide. The forces of time would smash you to pieces and then grind those fragments into dust until there was no evidence that you had ever existed.

That was not quite how the angel would describe it. He had never been inside a running washing machine, but he imagined that it felt something like this. Except the washing machine was the universe and Castiel was that one sock that always went missing. He was buffeted about relentlessly, until he lost all sense of where, when, and even who he was. He was being pulled apart, battered into oblivion. And then something yanked at him violently, sending him tumbling unceremoniously back into reality. But the darkness that had been encroaching on him finally won, and he was unconscious before he landed.

Awareness trickled back to him slowly, with sound returning first. He could hear a soft tapping noise, voices in the distance, a breeze rustling through the room. Then he could feel, the pain flaring up in his wings and his abdomen again, though it was duller than before, and an ache that encompassed his entire body. He could smell too, detecting the scent of dust and smoke and disinfectant and a hint of old blood. It took the angel a moment to appreciate what all of this meant. Then he blinked his eyes open, rather surprised to find that he still existed.

“Hey,” said an achingly familiar voice from beside him. Castiel wondered if perhaps he had died, if angels had their own versions of heaven.

“Dean,” he greeted, willing to accept the illusion for a moment.

He looked up with a smile, then squinted in confusion. If this was heaven, it was a strange one. Castiel had never seen Dean like this, older and harsher and…emptier. His presence felt wrong, and it took the angel a moment to realize that it was because he could not feel the piece of his grace in Dean’s soul. In fact…

He looked closer. Dean’s soul was…devastated. It looked the way it had in hell, when Castiel had first seen it. It was darkened and twisted and tortured.

“Dean,” he said again, though it was not a greeting this time, it was a lamentation. “What _happened_ to you?”

The hunter laughed, and the sound was so bleak and broken that it hurt Castiel just to listen to it.

“The apocalypse happened to me, Cas,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

As if it could possibly matter how Castiel was feeling at that moment. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew that something had gone terribly wrong, and he had to fix it. He sat up from the cot on which he had been laying, his eyes never leaving Dean. The hunter was dressed for battle, a gun strapped to his thigh and another at his waist, but he wore the weaponry with ease, as if it were his standard attire. There was exhaustion in his eyes, but his face was an emotionless mask. It felt so utterly wrong that Castiel did not know what to make of it.

“I don’t understand,” he said, his mind still hazy from his ordeal.

“I don’t either, really,” said Dean. He sat down in an old folding chair next to Castiel’s cot, surveying the angel with an unreadable expression. “You just appeared out of nowhere, looking like you’d tried to take on Terminator. Scared the crap out of a couple of my people and ruined our op, but it was probably gonna be a bust anyway. That was two weeks ago.”

“I’ve been unconscious for two weeks?” Castiel exclaimed, trying to stand, and promptly sitting back down again as his muscles screamed at him.

“Yep. Cas said you’re from the past, which frankly I could have guessed on my own.”

“Um, what?”

“Well, the trench coat is kind of a dead giveaway. You haven’t worn that in years. Shame, really. It does look good on you.”

Castiel stared at this disconcerting version of Dean, trying to make things make some sort of sense. He looked down at himself, realizing that he was not still wearing the trench coat in question, but was instead dressed in a thin t-shirt and loose fitting pants. He glanced around at his surroundings, noticing that they were in what appeared to be a cabin, which contained a few other cots like his own, all empty. There were supplies on the walls, both medical and military, and everything looked old and battered, including Dean. He had clearly aged beyond even the version of him that Castiel knew from 2010. A memory tugged at the corner of Castiel’s mind, and a theory began to form.

“This is the future,” he whispered, horrified. The future that Zachariah had shown to Dean just a few weeks after Lucifer’s release.

“Yeah, for you I guess it is,” said Dean. He leaned forward brushing his fingers lightly over the healing gashes that Azazel had left on Castiel’s face. “But you never answered my question. How are you feeling?”

“Why does it matter?”

Dean gave him a sad almost-smile.

“Because my version of you is already broken beyond repair,” he said grimly. “With you I still have a chance of making things better.”

Well, that was ominous. Castiel wondered what could possibly have happened to him that would give Dean that tragic expression. He decided not to ask.

“I’m fine, Dean,” he said instead. “Well, I’m exhausted and in pain and confused and I think I might even be thirsty, but I’m not dead. My wings are, surprisingly, still attached, which means that they’ll heal, and so will my face and abdominal wounds.”

“Right,” said Dean, reaching into a pocket in his jacket and extracting a flask and handing it to Castiel. “Well, this should take care of the thirsty part. I think we’re all confused, so I can’t really help you there, but you can deal with the exhaustion by sleeping on the cot that you conveniently happen to already be sitting on. And I know just where to get you some pain meds.”

“I’ll be fine without them,” Castiel told him quickly. “But are you sure I should go back to sleep?”

Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“I realize you haven’t seen yourself lately, but you look like shit. I don’t know what else you think you can do besides sleep. We’ll talk when you can keep your eyes open.”

Castiel grimaced at him, affronted, but as he swayed involuntarily he was forced to admit that the hunter had a point. He had barely been conscious for five minutes and already he was being dragged irresistibly towards sleep. Apparently almost getting utterly obliterated by the very universe itself was fairly exhausting. But he knew how dangerous this world was. He glanced around uncertainly. Dean caught the motion.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Cas,” he stated as if it should have been obvious. “I guess it’s my turn to do the watching over, huh?”

Castiel wanted to tell Dean that they were far from even in that regard, but his body was already shutting down again. He still had so many questions, and Dean probably did too, but apparently they would have to wait. He found that he did not really mind. Being conscious in a reality as twisted and confusing as this one was not exactly pleasant.

Then again, neither were his dreams. His mind had been blissfully blank before, but this time he had no such luck. His subconscious forced him to watch, over and over, as Azazel tore into Dean, forced to relive the young man’s agonized screams. When he was not lost in that memory, he was plagued by possibilities for this strange future that he had found himself in. his brain presented him with myriad horrors that could have gotten Dean to this point, this level of pain that he had seen.

But finally the dreams began to loosen their hold on Castiel, and he was able to float back towards awareness. When he woke up again, Dean was still there, sitting in the same chair with his feet resting casually on the end of Castiel’s cot. The hunter was engrossed in a map of some kind, so it took him a moment to realize that the angel was awake. Then he shifted sideways, letting his feet fall to the floor.

“And Sleeping Beauty awakes again!” the hunter exclaimed.

“I don’t understand that reference,” Castiel informed him. Dean frowned.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t either,” he said ruefully. “Whatever. I’ll just blame it on S-”

He broke off abruptly, glancing at the ground, but Castiel knew what word had been about to fall from his lips. That was another aspect of this reality on which the angel was unclear. Dean had refused to talk about it, which told Castiel just how bad Sam’s fate had been here.

“Where is your brother, Dean?” he asked gently. He saw Dean’s jaw clench.

“My brother is gone,” he said firmly.

But there was a strange uncertainty in his eyes, as if he were trying to convince himself as well as the angel, and Castiel knew that gone did not necessarily mean dead. He remembered the haunted look in Dean’s eyes after Castiel had rescued him from Zachariah, remembered how the hunter had immediately pulled out his phone to make peace with Sam. He had a feeling he knew what might have caused that.

“Sam said yes,” the angel surmised, and Dean gave him a jerky nod.

Castiel closed his eyes briefly against the surge of pain. He had managed to fail the Winchesters again. He had promised himself that he would never let the archangels get to either of them, would never let them be taken over, have their humanity stolen. But somewhere along the line, in whatever twisted reality this was, he had let Sam down.

“Yeah,” said Dean roughly, and Castiel opened his eyes again to see his grief reflected in the man’s face. “Anyway, now we’re working on ways to kill the devil.”

Castiel blinked.

“But Lucifer is possessing your-”

“My brother is _gone_ ,” Dean repeated brokenly. “And now I’ve gotta do what I have to.”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel whispered, and he wondered if angels could cry after all. The burning sensation in the back of his throat would certainly seem to support that.

Dean stood up abruptly and began to pace, clenching and unclenching his hands. Castiel watched him tiredly, amazed that he had held up even this well in the face of losing everything. Then again, the angel suspected that Dean was not as composed as he wanted him to believe.

Desperate to break the tense, sorrowful silence, Castiel floundered for something to say.

“So when is this, exactly?” he asked eventually.

“May 3rd, 2014,” Dean told him, stopping his pacing, though he did not return to the chair. “And it’s Apocalypse Now.”

“I remember watching that movie with you,” Castiel said. “It was not about the actual apocalypse.”

Dean’s face wrinkled in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “We never watched it together.”

“It was during that afternoon we spent at the lake, when we were waiting for Sam to come home from summer camp,” the angel reminded him. Dean just stared at him.

“Cas, what the hell are-”

He was interrupted by the thin cabin door banging open and a dark haired fighter striding in. The man was impossibly familiar, and horrifyingly alien. Castiel stared at what could only be the future version of himself, not sure how many more surprises he could take in one day.

Castiel’s Dean had not said much about his foray into the future back in 2009, but the angel could tell that it had unsettled him. But it had been enough to make him repair his relationship with Sam, so Castiel had been partially grateful. Now he was realizing that he should have pressed his friend for more details.

_“Don’t ever change,”_ Dean had told Castiel. The angel had not been sure what that meant, but he thought he understood now.

If Dean’s future self was broken, Castiel’s was…decimated. Though his face was still youthful, the man actually looked his considerable age. He had let his facial hair grow out and had not bothered to wash what looked like at least a week’s worth of dirt from his skin. Castiel studied his counterpart closely, but he could detect only the barest glow of his grace.

Fallen. He was human now, for all intents and purposes. And he did not appear to be handling it well. His eyes were glassy and his entire countenance conveyed a sense of utter hopelessness.

When the other Castiel saw that his counterpart from the past was awake, his face broke into the parody of a grin.

“Look who’s up!” he said. “Did you miss your stop, Mr. Marty McFly?”

“I don’t understand-” Castiel began, but then it came to him. One of the films from that marathon with the Winchesters, in a peaceful motel room a thousand years ago. “Back to the Future,” he muttered. “Of course.”

His double gave him a slightly maniacal smile. Then he turned to Dean, who was watching them both with an eyebrow raised.

“You mind giving us a minute?” he asked. “Need to have a little angel powwow.”

Dean snorted.

“So I guess you’re not invited either,” he said, and Castiel was surprised by the unnecessary cruelty. Apparently his future self was used to it though, and he did not even flinch.

“Just because my wings are gone doesn’t mean I never had them,” he said. “Now go. Check on the supply of toilet paper or something.”

Dean glowered at him but did not argue, sending one last glance at the younger Castiel as he left. When he was gone, the two versions of Castiel eyed each other curiously. Then the fallen angel shook his head in bemusement and pulled an orange bottle out of his pocket, unscrewing the cap and letting several white tablets fall into his mouth with practiced ease.

Castiel’s face wrinkled in distaste at his counterpart’s behavior, and the implications of it.

“You’re a drug addict,” he surmised.

“Yep. It sucks, but it’s better than being sober.”

“No. I remember the last time I took medication that was supposed to dull the pain. It is not better.”

“It made you live your nightmares, right?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly. Cas, my nightmares are better than my reality. I’ll take them.”

Castiel let his head drop into his hands.

“How did things get this bad?” he whispered.

“You see, those are the questions that I don’t ask myself when stoned.”

Castiel glowered at him, a confusing tangle of emotions swirling within him. There was shame and disappointment and fear and anger and sadness, and they were all burning in his chest. He did not know what to say, how he was supposed to respond to a situation like this.

“You know, now I see what Dean meant about getting laid from that look,” the other Castiel said with a humorless laugh.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Castiel, feeling as though this confusion had become his primary state of being.

His future self peered at him.

“No, you don’t, do you?” he said. “Weird.”

“Really, out of this whole situation, that is the first thing that strikes you as odd?” Castiel asked incredulously.

“That’s not what I meant,” the fallen angel said impatiently. He rubbed his head. “I’m not stoned enough for this.”

“I think you’ve consumed enough drugs as it is,” said Castiel, mildly disgusted.

“Easy for you to say.”

“It really isn’t.”

“Whatever. Either way, I’m getting a headache. You really messed around with things, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the two different timelines converging in my head, yours and mine.”

“But we’re the same person.”

“Yeah, but evidently we don’t have the same histories. You…”

The older Castiel trailed off, falling into the rusty chair that Dean had vacated a few minutes earlier.

“Zachariah sent Dean here, your Dean,” he said eventually. “Or he will, I guess, a few months from now. And that…that sets off a different timeline, where Dean is less of a stubborn ass and he actually reaches out to Sam instead of pushing him towards the devil. And then you…what, you just hopped around their childhood until Azazel kicked you out of the playground?”

Castiel sighed. This whole encounter was lending credence to the multiple timelines and realities theory about time travel. It was also making him lose whatever faith in himself he had left. And making his head hurt.

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” he told his future self. “Apparently you and I are the same person, whose paths split in 2009. Yours continued on into the apocalypse, and mine…well, I suppose mine is also headed for the apocalypse, but on a different route.”

“Yeah, a _very_ different route,” the other Castiel scoffed. “And a much more fun one, from the pieces I can see.” His face fell into lines of deep sadness. “You got to see them before. Before…everything.”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, knowing instantly whom he was talking about. And he missed them already.

“And Dean fell in love with you the normal way.”

Castiel snorted.

“I’m not sure that establishing a relationship by appearing out of order through someone’s past counts as the normal way,” he argued.

“Sure beats how we did it.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?” the fallen angel gave him a sly grin. “You didn’t think you had a monopoly on all versions of Dean, did you?”

“The two of you are together?” Castiel clarified.

“Yep. Just sort of happened. I mean, it’s weird and messed up and probably unhealthy, but so are we. And when the world is falling to shit and zombies are trying to kill you all hours of the day, you kind of start to care less about labels and more about the people who matter.”

“I see.”

“I doubt that.”

“Fair enough.” After a moment, Castiel realized the implications of what they had worked through. “Dean doesn’t remember me then, does he?”

“No. As far as he knows, he first met us in September of 2008.”

“Do you think I should tell him?”

“Tell him what? That somewhere out there exists a reality in which he got to grow up with you around? I think that would be unnecessarily painful for him.”

“Right.” Castiel knew that his other self had a point, but that did not make him any more enthusiastic about keeping his past from Dean.

They both lapsed into silence. Castiel was starting to get over his initial distaste, trying instead to understand. If he knew what had gotten him to this point, there was a better chance that he could avoid taking the same path. His other self seemed to be thinking along similar lines.

“You know you’ve got to fix this, right?” he asked.

“You need to be more specific. There’s a lot that needs to be fixed around here.”

“That is very true. But also irrelevant. This world can’t be saved, Cas, I know that. Dean knows it too. But lying to ourselves and to each other is pretty much all we have left, so we go with it. But that’s not all you have left.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t your world, and even if it is, it’s not your time. You don’t belong here, and you can’t use it as a hiding place.”

“You think I want to be here?”

“I think you want an excuse not to go back. Because you’re scared of what’ll happen, of what you’ll manage to mess up. But news flash, Cas: you can’t screw things up any more than they already are. So as soon as your wings are healed, you use them. Get out of here, and go salvage your reality. Because you’re lucky enough to have one.”

“Even if I can get back, I still can’t go near Dean,” Castiel said helplessly. “Azazel will kill him.”

“And who do we know that’s more powerful than Azazel, and has a vested interest in Dean’s wellbeing?”

“I’m not more powerful than Azazel. Not in this condition.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t talking about you.”

Castiel tilted his head in confusion, staring at himself. And then he understood.

“Michael?” he asked. “You’re suggesting that I drag Michael into this? Do you actually think that will improve the situation?”

His future self rolled his eyes, which Castiel found strangely irritating.

“You don’t have to bring the genuine article,” the fallen angel said scornfully. “But Azazel knows about Sam, knows that he’s prepping him to be Lucifer’s vessel. Stands to reason that he knows about Michael and Dean too. You call his bluff, tell him exactly what’ll happen to him if he messes with Dean Winchester.”

“And you honestly think that will work?”

The fallen angel gestured at their bleak surroundings.

“It’s better than letting this happen to another version of Dean, isn’t it?”

“I suppose you have a point.”

“Yeah, imagine that. Even without my angel mojo, I’m not totally useless.”

Castiel gazed sadly at this other version of him, the one he suddenly vowed he would never turn into.

“I believe you,” he said.

“Just go to sleep. The sooner you heal, the sooner you can go make things right.”

Castiel did not know whether or not he would be able to go back to sleep so quickly, but he could tell that his future counterpart would accept nothing else. The angel lay back down on his cot, but he did not close his eyes.

“What happened to _you_?” he asked instead. “How did you become…whatever it is you are?”

“I don’t know,” he heard his other self say softly. “I guess I just kept choosing humanity. Eventually that started to have repercussions. I denied heaven, so heaven denied me. My grace just…started leaking away, and when the rest of the angels left, all I had was the barest shadow of it.”

“That’s not really what I was asking,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, I figured. But I don’t know what else to tell you, Cas. I couldn’t deal, okay? It’s not just this world that’s broken, it’s Dean too. Do you have any idea how painful it was to watch all that happen to him? And I couldn’t help, I couldn’t do anything but learn how to use a gun and just fight like hell in a war that we all know is already lost. And then when Sam said yes…Well, I dare you to do better when it’s your turn.”

He would do better. He had to do better.

“Why did you leave Sam?” Castiel asked, choosing to focus on that.

“ _Dean_ left Sam. And I think you know why I couldn’t leave Dean.”

Yes. He supposed he did.

“And everyone else?” he asked. “Bobby?”

The other Castiel sighed, and the angel’s heart sank.

“Bobby held out longer than you would expect, for a guy in a wheelchair. But we lost him to a swarm of croats last year, ‘bout the time Sam gave the big yes. And I was here, laid up in bed with a broken foot. That was…that was a rough time, even compared to everything else. As for Ellen and Jo; Ellen was killed by demons three years ago. Jo’s still out there, as far as we know. She wanted to do her own thing.”

“Oh.” Castiel found it rather ironic that this reality held a longer lifespan for the Harvelles than his own had, but he did not mention that.

“Yeah.” They were both silent for a moment, then the older Castiel cleared his throat uncertainly. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Your memories of Dean and Sam as kids…”

“What about them?”

“I can sort of see them, but just barely, you know? I can see what happened in the big picture, but…”

“What are you asking for?”

“Can you tell me about them?”

Castiel turned his head towards his future counterpart, surprised.

“What?”

“I want to know what they were like, before all this. I want to hear about Dean being less miserable than he is now, I want to hear about what Sam was like before he knew about psychics and demon blood.”

Castiel understood the request. He thought back to some of the lightest moments with the younger Winchesters, choosing which one to share with his former self.

“Are you familiar with the game of hide and seek?” he asked eventually. His other self raised an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he said.

“Well, I wasn’t, until Sam and Dean begged me to play it with them. It seemed like a fairly simple game, when they explained it to me. I mean, I did not understand the purpose of it, but I was willing to go along with them. They appointed me as the seeker.”

“Let me guess,” said the older Castiel, with his most genuine smile yet. “You found them in about a second and a half.”

“I never lost them,” said Castiel, returning the smile as he remembered the boys’ indignation. “They made me hide, after that. Of course, that didn’t work out very well either.”

“You went invisible, didn’t you?”

“They claimed it was cheating.”

“That’s because it totally was, scumbag. Who cheats at hide and seek?”

Castiel could not help but chuckle at the fallen angel’s mock reproach.

“We stopped playing after that,” he said.

He continued to regale his other self with his favorite memories of the boys until his eyes began to prickle and his mind began to fog with exhaustion. He fell asleep with a nostalgic smile on his face.

ooooooooooooo

For the first time since landing in this timeline, the angel awoke to an empty cabin. On one hand, it was more peaceful than having to deal with a future self that still somewhat repelled him and a future Dean that broke his heart, but it was also lonely. Castiel was not sure at what point in this whole journey that that had started to bother him.

He took the opportunity to try to stand again without anyone watching him. It went about as well as his first attempt. He could sit up, albeit with severe discomfort in his abdomen, but his legs still would not support him. He sighed in frustration, but looked up sharply when he heard the door to the medical cabin opening slowly. He did a double take when he recognized the man who walked through the door.

“Chuck?” he asked incredulously.

The prophet grinned at him.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted. He held up a couple of granola bars and a bottle of water. “I brought these for you. Dean said you might be hungry.”

Castiel paused, considering. Had he ever felt hunger before? Not really, but perhaps he simply did not recognize the signs.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the food.

Chuck did not leave as he began to eat, and he stared questioningly up at the scruffy man.

“Sorry,” the prophet said, seeming to realize that he was hovering. “I don’t mean to be weird. I’m just supposed to keep an eye on you, make sure you’re okay.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Castiel told him. “I’m not in any medical danger. Just frustratingly low on energy.”

“I’m sure that’ll pass,” said Chuck encouragingly. “And I’m still staying. Dean gets a little scary when his orders aren’t followed. Besides, I’m sure you could use some company. I’ll just work on inventory in here.”

“Dean is the leader around here?” Castiel guessed.

“Yeah. I mean, he was kind of the obvious choice. He’s the only one that even sort of knew what he was doing in the beginning, and he got everyone organized and trained and we just went from there.”

“And what is your role?”

“Oh, we figured out pretty quickly that I’m no good with a gun. So I mostly manage the logistics of the camp, keep things running smoothly.”

“Is that what this place is? A camp?” Castiel asked. He had not even seen anything outside what he assumed was the medical cabin. He wondered how big the place was.

“Of sorts, yeah. It’s called Camp Chitaqua. It used to be for retreats and stuff, but now it’s our home base. People come here when they want to help with the resistance, or if they have no other place to go.”

“I see.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence that lasted until Dean entered about an hour later. The hunter gave Castiel a small smile when he saw that the angel was awake.

“Hey, Cas,” he said. He turned to the prophet. “Thanks, Chuck. I can take it from here.”

The other man nodded, grinning at Castiel before exiting the cabin. Dean walked to the chair that he had been sitting in on his previous visit.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked.

“About the same, but a little less tired,” the angel told him.

“Well, that’s a start.”

“Yes. Where is Castiel?”

“Well, he’s got the afternoon off, so he’s probably hosting an orgy in his cabin.”

Castiel nearly choked, and Dean chuckled as he watched the angel sputter.

“He’s doing _what_?”

“You heard me.”

“I thought the two of you were in a relationship?”

“We are, it’s just not monogamous. I mean, the world is ending. Who am I to deny Cas the perks of humanity while he can still enjoy them?”

Castiel was speechless. He was not sure what shocked him more; the idea that he would one day turn into a person that would enjoy drugs and orgies, or the fact that it did not seem to bother Dean in the slightest. He decided to stop thinking about it. Or try to, at least.

“So, uh, how are things going?” he asked instead. Dean shrugged.

“About the same as they always do. None of my people died today, so that was a plus. We also happen to be running out of food, which is less of a plus.”

“Is there any way to replenish the supplies?” asked Castiel in concern, suddenly feeling guilty for the granola bars that he had eaten.

“Oh yeah, we’ll make it happen,” said Dean. “It’ll just involve copious amounts of danger.”

“I suppose you’ll be in your element then,” said Castiel. Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

ooooooooooooo

Castiel spent the next two weeks at Camp Chitaqua, recovering agonizingly slowly. He slept at odd hours, sometimes ravenous, sometimes eating nothing for days. It was ten times worse than when he had gotten hit by that car. At least he was able to walk around by the third day, so he did not lose his mind entirely. Dean had not kept his presence secret from the camp, but from what the angel could tell, he had not offered much of an explanation either. So Castiel received several questioning looks, but no one seemed to want to ask him anything outright. He supposed that they had gotten used to strange things, what with the lives the apocalypse had forced them to lead.

He spent the most of his time with Dean, when the hunter was not busy holding the camp together. The experiences were usually painful, because the longer he observed his friend, the more disturbed he became by how broken he had become, but it was better than no Dean at all. He did his best to avoid his future self, as those encounters were still just too unsettling. He tried to learn as much as he could to learn about the events that had led up to this point, so that he could work to avoid them when he got back to his own reality. It also gave him something to hope for in what was otherwise a crushingly desolate environment.

Fifteen days after Castiel crash landed in the future, Dean came to find him in the medical cabin, where he was still staying. The hunter told him about their latest mission, the first one that Dean would be going on since Castiel had arrived. They would be tracking down a lead on the Colt, which they were hoping to use to kill the devil.

“Would you like me to come with you?” asked Castiel.

“No, Cas. Just stay here and rest. I just stopped by to let you know what was going on.”

“I may not be able to use my wings yet, Dean, but I have mostly recovered otherwise. I could be helpful to your mission.”

“I’m sure you could, but I won’t risk you getting hurt. I can’t.”

Castiel sighed. He knew better than to argue with Dean when he was being this stubborn, especially when it was out of concern for the angel.

“What time do you leave?” he asked, and Dean relaxed.

“Five minutes. I didn’t want you to worry longer than was necessary,” he said, spotting Castiel’s annoyed look. “You gonna be okay on your own for a few hours?”

Castiel rolled his eyes at Dean.

“I’m not a child,” he said.

“I know you’re not, Cas. I just…I just want you to be all right.”

Castiel sighed. He supposed that he understood Dean’s overprotectiveness. The angel represented his chance to correct what he saw as one of his mistakes.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised softly.

“Okay. Well, sit tight, get some more rest, and we’ll be back soon.”

“Good luck.”

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“I suppose I don’t either,” Castiel said. “I do believe in you though.”

Dean let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

“And here I was thinking you were smart,” he said.

Castiel sighed, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder. He left without another word, and Castiel lay back on the cot, suddenly desperate for the respite of sleep. Because he could comfort himself with the fact that at least the nightmares were not real. But he had come to discover that sleep was elusive when it was most desired. So he simply stared at the splintered supports of the ceiling and tried not to think.

The angel managed to relax into a sort of numb trance, which was interrupted a few hours later by the sound of engines approaching and cutting out. Tense voices were audible in the sudden silence, and Castiel sat up immediately, sensing that something was wrong.

His intuition was proved accurate a few moments later, when the door to the medical cabin was kicked open. Castiel’s breath caught in his chest as he watched his other self stride in, accompanied by Jane and Chuck, and carrying…

“Dean!” the angel called urgently, surging to his feet.

The hunter’s face was pale and empty, his clothes stained a devastatingly familiar crimson. The older Castiel placed him on one of the cots, and then whipped around to grab the younger angel by the shoulders.

“Fix him!” he demanded wildly.

“What happened?” Castiel asked, tugging free and crouching beside the cot. He could sense Dean’s life force, but just barely. He pulled aside Dean’s jacket, which had once been green but was now decidedly not. A mess of torn flesh and gleaming bone was exposed, and the angel sucked in a sharp breath.

“I couldn’t stop them,” he heard his older counterpart whisper wretchedly.

“Demons,” Jane added, when it became clear that the fallen angel could not continue. “We were attacked by six of them on our way back. They really did a number on Dean before we managed to take them down. And they killed Mark.”

While Mark’s fate was unfortunate, Castiel did not care about that at the moment. Because the longer he assessed Dean’s condition, the more painfully clear it became that the man’s injuries were fatal. He looked helplessly up at his future self.

Chuck coughed pointedly, and Jane followed him out of the cabin, leaving the two Castiels alone with Dean.

“What are you waiting for?” the fallen angel asked urgently. “I can’t help him; you have to!”

“I barely have anything left,” Castiel protested weakly. “I don’t even know if it would do anything.”

“Then you fucking try!” his rougher version shouted at him. “Or do you not think he’s worth it anymore? Because guess what, Cas; he is! And maybe you get to fly on home to your undamaged version of him, but this is all I’ve got, and _I_ _cannot lose him_. Do you understand me?”

Of course he understood. While there were a few years that the two of them did not share, they were still both the angel that had given everything for Dean Winchester, time and again. The angel that had forgotten how to live without him.

But this time he was just not sure what he could do. He knew that he did not have enough power to do this properly. But if he tapped the power of his core grace again…he did not even know if he could do that, how many pieces he could tear his grace into before he had nothing left.

It could cost him his wings. He would have to give up on his version of Dean in order to save this one. Could he do that?

“He needs more than I can give him,” he said helplessly. The other Castiel grabbed his shoulder roughly.

“Then take what you need from me,” he ordered. “I’m not an angel anymore, but I must have something left. Take it.”

Castiel did not bother to ask him if he was sure. He knew the answer. He closed his eyes, feeling the extra reserves of energy at his disposal. They were still alarmingly meager. But that would not stop him from trying.

He let their combined power seep into Dean’s body, healing as it went. But the progress was slow, dangerously slow. He could feel Dean’s pulse growing weaker, his breathing more labored as his life force slipped away.

“Hurry up,” the fallen angel hissed, clearly sensing Dean’s peril as well.

“I can’t,” Castiel snapped. “We’re not strong enough.”

He felt a surge of energy, and the hand slipped from his shoulder. As he heard the sound of a body hitting the ground, Castiel understood what his other self had done. He had forced the angel to take more of his power than he had intended to, giving up the last of his grace. Castiel wanted to check on him, but he would not let his sacrifice go to waste.

He let the extra power flow into Dean, and felt a surge of relief as it had an effect. Dean’s heartbeat steadied, his wounds closing further. When Castiel heard the hunter pull in a deep breath, he let his hand slip away from his chest, stopping the flow of energy draining from him so that he would not pass out like his older counterpart.

He sat back, breathing heavily as he watched Dean. The hunter appeared to be stable, though some of his deeper wounds would still need to be bandaged.

After a moment, Castiel was able to crawl forward to check on his fallen self. The older man was slumped on the floor, unconscious but breathing. Castiel shook him by the shoulder, but got no response.

“It worked,” the angel told him anyway. “Dean’s alive. He’s going to make it. You saved him.”

Still no response.

Castiel sighed, leaning back against Dean’s cot, utterly exhausted and drained. He wondered how much more this place could take from him.

He looked up when he heard a tapping on the door.

“Cas?” Chuck’s voice called through the thin wood.

“You can come in,” Castiel replied.

The door opened, and Chuck walked in, eyes widening when he saw the older Castiel’s body.

“What happened?” he asked, crouching down beside him.

“He provided me with the energy I needed to heal Dean,” Castiel explained. “He’ll be all right. Well, physically at least.”

“And Dean?”

“Stable. He’ll need someone to bandage the rest of his wounds though. There was only so much I could do.”

If Chuck heard the shame in his voice, he did not comment on it. He just scooped up the fallen angel, laying him on the cot next to Dean’s and then walked over to one of the shelves on the wall and pulled down some supplies.

“I can do that,” he said, returning to Dean’s side and removing the hunter’s jacket and shirt. He glanced at the conscious Castiel, who was still sitting on the floor. “Uh, do you need any help?”

“Just take care of Dean.”

“Right.”

Castiel watched as the prophet dressed Dean’s wounds with practiced efficiency. Out of all the transformations that he had seen, the angel supposed that this was the least devastating, but it was still surprising.

“I’m impressed that you’ve survived this long,” he told the other man. Chuck glanced up at him with an amused grin.

“Gee, thanks,” he said

“This world hasn’t broken you as it has the others,” Castiel observed curiously.

Chuck said nothing for a moment, his face contemplative as he smoothed another bandage over Dean’s chest.

“I guess…” he began eventually. “I guess because my life was so crappy before, the apocalypse didn’t really affect me the way it did everyone else. Actually, it…it gave me a purpose. It gave me the opportunity to do some good instead of just sitting around and drinking all day. So that helps. But you’ve got to understand; Dean and Cas – the other Cas – they feel responsible for all this. They shouldn’t, but they do. I don’t. I guess that’s the biggest difference.”

“Interesting.”

“Thanks.”

Chuck secured the last bandage in place, and then rose to his feet, glancing between the two Castiels.

“Uh, is there anything I can do for him?” he asked, nodding his head towards the unconscious fallen angel.

“I think he is beyond your help,” Castiel replied softly. “But he should be back to the way he was fairly soon.”

“Okay…well, call me on the radio if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you, Chuck.”

The former prophet smiled at him and then walked out, leaving the two broken angels and their righteous man.

Castiel heaved a deep sigh, the exhaustion of the day pressing down on him. But he could not sleep. He gazed at Dean, realizing that he had not seen the man asleep in this reality. As with everything else, it was a convoluted parody of what Castiel had known. Dean’s face was pinched with pain or fear or grief or some combination thereof, his eyes darting beneath their lids. He looked more like he had right after Castiel had pulled him out of hell than when he was eighteen and sleeping off a drinking binge in a park beneath the stars. It was another reminder of how bad things were here, how much Castiel had to fix if – _when_ – he got back.

But he could not look away. He had always been mesmerized by watching Dean sleep, and seeing the man on the brink of death had exacerbated the need to keep an eye on him. So despite the tugging exhaustion, Castiel watched Dean through the night, until his eyes flickered open at the light of the dawn.

The hunter’s lips stretched into a smile when he saw Castiel, but then they were clouded over by memory and awareness, and he tried to sit up. Castiel sat forward to stop him, but Dean had already fallen back onto his cot with a huff of pain.

“We did our best,” Castiel said apologetically. “But I’m afraid you still have some recovering to do on your own.”

“There were demons,” Dean muttered. “I remember…”

His hands went to his chest, finding the bandages there.

“Those wounds should have been fatal. You…” his brow wrinkled in confusion. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘ _we_ did our best’?”

He glanced around the rest of the room, his eyes finding the unconscious Castiel. He reached out a hand, the cots just close enough to each other that his fingers could reach the fallen angel’s neck to check for a pulse.

“What happened?” Dean asked quietly.

“He’ll be fine,” Castiel assured him.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Castiel sighed. He had not wanted Dean to know how much they had given for him, but he knew how stubborn and tenacious the hunter could be, and realized that there was no point in trying to hide it.

“You were correct about the fatality of your injuries,” the angel began. “You were barely alive when the others brought you here. It took the combined energies of me and the other Castiel just to stabilize you.”

“And he won’t wake up because…?”

“He will eventually. But Dean, he…he used the power of the last of his grace to save you. It might take him a while to recover from that.”

“I thought he didn’t have any grace left,” said Dean, and Castiel could not identify the rough undercurrent in his voice.

“He didn’t have much. It would not have been enough to do anything on its own, but I was able to channel it effectively enough to save your life.”

Dean barked out a single laugh that sounded more like a sob.

“Just when I thought that stubborn bastard couldn’t sacrifice anything else for me,” he said, and his self-loathing was palpable.

Castiel sighed again.

“It was his choice, Dean,” he said. “He cares about you. We both do.”

“Yeah, and look where it’s gotten you.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“I’m not sure how many times you’re gonna have to say that before you realize it’s not true.”

Castiel held back yet another sigh, letting his gaze drift back to the ceiling. He knew objectively that this Dean was too broken for him to fix, but that did not stop it from hurting when he failed.

They were both silent for a while, lost in their own thoughts. Now that Castiel had been reassured by Dean’s consciousness, his body was beginning to slip irresistibly towards sleep.

“I prayed for you, you know.”

Castiel looked over at Dean, surprised by the sudden statement.

“What?”

Dean did not look back at him, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. But his lips twitched into a grim smile.

“The day you showed up here, I had prayed for you,” he said. “The old you, the way you were before all this happened. I never thought anything would come of it; it was really just a reflex after…a tough moment. But then there you were, trench coat and all, out of the clear blue sky.”

“Unconscious and half dead.”

“Yeah, that too. I couldn’t believe it. I had Cas check you out, make sure that you were, you know, you. And he said you were, and it was like a miracle.”

“Some miracle,” Castiel said scornfully.

“I’m trying to apologize here, Cas,” said Dean impatiently.

“Really?”

Dean laughed, and this time it was more genuine than the angel had heard it in a while. It was achingly close to the sound that Castiel knew and loved.

“Yeah, I guess I kind of suck at saying sorry, huh?” the hunter said.

“I just don’t know what you’re trying to apologize for.”

“For bringing you here. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into all of this. You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t prayed for you, so…sorry.”

Castiel thought about that for a moment, thought back to the time that he had spent untethered in the raging flow of time that had nearly swallowed him whole. He remembered the feeling of an anchor catching hold of him, keeping him together and dragging him back to some semblance of reality. Perhaps that had been Dean’s prayer, the power of their connection enough to stop Castiel from being erased by the universe.

“Dean, I don’t think I would be anywhere if it weren’t for you,” he said at last. “I was…lost. Your prayer gave me something to hold onto. I believe you saved me.”

“Are you serious?” Dean asked. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I do my best not to lie to you, Dean.”

“Oh. Then I guess I’m glad I could help.”

“As am I.”

There was a pause. Castiel wondered if that would be the end of it, but then:

“Why were you lost, Cas?”

“It doesn’t matter. I think I know how to find my way back now.”

“Oh. Good.”

And then silence fell in earnest. Castiel was the first to slip back into unconsciousness, though it brought him little peace.

ooooooooooooo

All three of them slept through different parts of the day and night, waking up together the following morning. Though Dean and Castiel both tried to talk to him, the fallen angel would say nothing about the events of the previous day, refused to talk about giving up his grace. Eventually they stopped pressing him.

The three of them recovered at different paces, the older Castiel the fastest, Dean the slowest. Though healing Dean had been a setback in his convalescence, Castiel was pleased with the progress his wings had made. He believed that they would be able to carry him home within a few days.

As time continued to tick by, and first the fallen Castiel, and then Dean were able to move out of the medical cabin, his prediction proved correct. The angel had not felt the need to sleep for the past two days, he could move his entire body without pain, and his wings were only mildly sore, instead of feeling like they were on fire. He stretched them out carefully, then tested them out with a quick flight through space.

He appeared at Castiel’s side, only to see the fallen angel drop several pills down his gullet. He sighed, but said nothing. He could see the pain that his arrival had caused, and that was in addition to what the man had been feeling before.

“I guess those wings are working again,” the other Castiel said.

“They appear to be functional, yes.”

“I guess there’s no reason to hang around us mortals anymore then.”

Castiel winced.

“You know why I have to go, and it’s not because I consider myself above you,” he said. His older counterpart sighed.

“I know. But _damn_ does it hurt to see you zipping around again, and knowing that I’ll never-”

He broke off, glancing at the ground. Castiel saw his hand twitch toward the pocket that held his medication, but he did not complete the motion.

“You don’t know that,” said Castiel bracingly. “It’s possible that-”

“Spare me,” the fallen angel interrupted, and Castiel fell silent with a grimace. “So are you leaving now?”

“It seems like the thing to do. As you told me a few weeks ago, I don’t belong here. It would be unwise to linger more than I already have.”

“Well, I guess you are the wiser one,” said the future Castiel ruefully. “I’ve kind of let that fall by the wayside.”

“No you haven’t. You are still wise, Castiel. But the wisest people are often the most unhappy.”

“Look at you, waxing philosophical. I miss that.”

Castiel gave him a sad smile.

“Goodbye, Castiel,” he said gravely. “Thank you.”

“Bye, Cas. I hope you never have to see me in the mirror.”

Castiel had nothing to say to that, so he turned to leave, but turned back when his future self called out to him.

“Wait! Here, take this. I seem to remember you losing yours.”

Castiel stared down at the gleaming silver angel blade that his counterpart had just handed to him.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Won’t you need it?”

“Nah. The only thing that makes that pigsticker special is the fact that it works on angels and demons. All the angels but me have given up, and all the demons Lucifer allowed to live are too busy enjoying the spoils of the apocalypse to bother with the likes of me. And guns work better against Croats than sharp pieces of metal do. Trust me; it’ll be more useful to you than me. Which I guess is more useful to me too, when you think about it. Besides, it’s an angel’s weapon. We both know it belongs with you.”

Castiel grimaced, but he held onto the sword.

“Thank you,” he said again.

His older self gave him a single nod. Castiel strode towards the door again. This time he made it out.

“As you were, Cas. As you were.”

Castiel ignored the whisper from behind him as he walked out of the cabin in search of Dean. It did not take him long to find the hunter. Warped or not, Castiel would still recognize that soul anywhere.

“Still can’t get used to the sight of you walking around here,” Dean remarked when he spotted the angel.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Castiel told him. “My wings are sufficiently healed. I’m going back to my own reality.”

“Oh.” Dean’s entire demeanor changed, a cold mask falling into place. Castiel sighed. He had known better than to expect the hunter to be happy about his departure, but it was still painful to watch himself being shut out like this.

“I’m going to fix this, Dean,” he promised fervently.

The mask slipped away as quickly as it had appeared, and Dean gave him an impossibly sad smile, the most genuine one Castiel had seen yet, and he cupped the angel’s cheek gently with one calloused hand.

“I miss you,” he said softly. “I’d forgotten what you were like, before all this.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” said Castiel. And he was. Because even though he was going back to fix his timeline, there was no guarantee that it would have any effect on this one.

“It’s not your fault,” Dean told him.

“It’s not yours either.”

Dean just laughed, and the sound twisted in Castiel’s gut.

“Goodbye, Cas,” he said. “And would you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

Dean pulled the angel toward him, pressing their lips together firmly. This kiss was different from the few others that Castiel had experienced. It was resigned, but full of a desperate longing. It was more tender than Castiel had thought this version of Dean capable of, but had the harsher edge that Castiel had come to associate with him. And it was over too soon.

“When you get back home, give your Dean a kiss for me,” said the hunter once he had pulled away. “Don’t let him wait like I did.”

Castiel wondered if it was possible to feel sadness more profound than this. He did not think he wanted to find out. So he just took Dean by the shoulders and held him for a moment.

“I will,” he promised. “Goodbye Dean.”

He used his tender wings to propel him back into the timestream, holding tightly to his fragment of Dean’s soul and desperately hoping that he would be able to find his way back to the reality that mattered so much to him.


	12. Chapter 12

The trip was not quite as devastating as the one that had taken him to the future, but it was still one of the most difficult of Castiel’s life. He was travelling not just through time, but between realities as well, and his wings strained and his senses reeled as he fought his way through the current that seemed intent on destroying him, focusing on the beacon of Dean’s soul and heartening as the signal grew stronger. Eventually he pushed his way back into his own reality, and he let himself tumble out of the exhausting timestream with a grateful sigh.

It was dark when Castiel landed. Not too dark for him to see, but…bleak somehow. No light came through the small windows set in the walls, and the air itself felt grim. He glanced around at the small bedroom, but could find no obvious threats. Maybe it was just Castiel’s connection to Dean, who he could see sitting on a bed across the room, his back to the angel and his shoulders hunched. The man’s pain was so pronounced and profound that for a moment the angel was afraid that he had not made it back at all, and was still trapped in the tortured future that he had tried so hard to leave.

“Cas.”

The angel had not realized that Dean was aware of his presence. But something about the way the hunter said his name; just one syllable, but filled with fire and ice and fear and hope and pain and something deeper…It made his bruised wings tingle at the same time as a sense of foreboding crept through him. But he tried to ignore it, to stick to their time-honored and safe customs.

“Hello Dean.”

The hunter got to his feet slowly, turning to face the angel. Castiel was surprised to see that he had been crying. His fists clenched, and he found himself wanting to hunt down whatever had drawn tears from Dean Winchester, who only wept when he was experiencing pain so profound that it would have felled lesser men.

Dean drew closer, his eyes locked on Castiel’s face. He raised one hand slowly, pressing it to the angel’s cheek, gasping when it connected.

“It’s really you,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed, studying Dean’s face carefully. He appeared to be about twenty or so. And more importantly, he seemed healthy and safe. This was a Dean unbroken by the apocalypse. His Dean.

But then, without warning, Dean sent his fist flying into the angel’s face. The force of the blow made Castiel stagger, weaker than he had been the last time this had happened, in that greenroom in California. Or Dean was just more upset.

“You son of a bitch!” he shouted, shaking his hand in pain. Apparently Castiel was not that much weaker. “You just waltz back in here, _tonight_ of all nights, and just say ‘hello Dean’-” he launched another punch. Castiel let it land, not sure of what he had done to hurt Dean this deeply, but desperate to fix it. “And you think it’s all okay?” Another punch.

“Dean,” Castiel began, but he was cut off by another blow, to the stomach this time. The strikes did not hurt much physically, but each one hit the angel deeper than any material pain, because of where they came from.

“No!” Dean was still shouting, still punching, though his blows were getting weaker. “Three years! Three years, Cas! You were being torn apart right in front of me, and then you were just _gone_. I waited for you, Cas, I prayed to you. Nothing. For three fucking years, I got nothing. I thought…I thought you were dead, Cas. I thought yellow eyes had killed you, I thought you had burnt yourself out in the timestream, I thought-”

Castiel, having finally gotten over his shock and confusion, pulled the still-flailing Dean into his arms. The hunter struggled, still trying to punch every inch of the angel that he could reach, but when Castiel continued to hold him tightly, he gradually grew still, though sobs occasionally wracked his body so forcefully that they shook the angel as well.

“I thought you were dead,” Dean said again, though it came out as a whisper this time. Castiel flinched at the agony that he could feel through their connected beings, the despair and loss that had grown with each year that passed without a visit from the angel.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” said Castiel, taking a deep breath and stroking the young man’s hair soothingly. He opened up his grace to Dean, hoping to let peace and comfort wash through the hunter. “But I am right here. I got lost, very lost, but I’m here now. I found you again, and I’m all right. And I promise not to lose you again.”

The angel held Dean tightly, feeling shudders racking the hunter’s body as he tried to pull in deep breaths. Dean tucked his head against Castiel’s neck, hands fisted in the fabric of his trench coat and holding on as if it were his lifeline.

Castiel lost track of how long they stood like that, gripping each other tightly and breathing each other in, trying to convince themselves that this was real, that they were safe and together. Eventually Dean’s tremors stopped, and Castiel knew that he had a promise to keep.

He reached a hand up to Dean’s cheek, and the hunter pulled away slightly to look at him. Castiel used his thumbs to wipe away the remnants of the tears on Dean’s face, vowing that he would eradicate their source as well, once he figured out what it was. Castiel gave Dean a tender smile, then brought their mouths together in a kiss.

This one was as full as their very first one had been, though it was markedly different. Because this one contained every single day that the angel and the hunter had been apart, and it spoke of the need and fear and longing that had filled those moments, and the joy of their reunion. Castiel felt his grace pulsing within him, expanding out to brush against Dean’s soul, letting them experience the depth of each other’s emotions.

When the kiss came to its inevitable end and the two men parted, neither of them could speak for a moment. Castiel could see that Dean was breathing heavily, and was surprised to find that he was doing the same. But he was full of nothing but peace and contentment.

“Well, as an apology, that wasn’t bad, Cas,” said Dean once he could speak.

“I love you too, Dean,” said the angel, a tingle of exhilaration sweeping through him as he finally released the words that had been screaming from inside him for what felt like a very long time.

“But I didn’t say-” Dean began.

“Yes you did,” Castiel interrupted. Because he finally understood how Dean communicated, using too many of the wrong words to express the emotions that scared him.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” said the hunter, a smile creeping across his face. “I’m not sure that I heard you though. Would you mind repeating it for me?”

Castiel leaned forward until his forehead was pressed to Dean’s. He looked into his hunter’s eyes, reveling at the soul within, glowing brighter in that moment than he had ever seen it.

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” he said, the words reverberating through them both. “I love every part of you, and I will never stop loving you until we both cease to exist.”

Dean stared back at him, struck silent once more. Then he reached forward, and Castiel felt strong fingers tangling in his hair as Dean pulled him closer, pressing his lips to the angel’s again.

This kiss was one of celebration, of joy at two halves coming together properly for the first time. Castiel lost track of how long this one lasted, but eventually Dean pulled away reluctantly, and the angel could see the exhaustion in every line of his face. Castiel kissed his forehead gently, understanding how tiring this all must have been for Dean, on top of whatever had been troubling him when the angel had arrived.

“Sleep, Dean,” he said. “I’ll stay with you.”

Dean nodded, not even bothering to do more than take off his shoes and jacket before he fell into the bed in the corner of the room. He tugged Castiel down next to him, and the angel held him, stroking pacifying fingers through Dean’s hair as the hunter clung to him as though still afraid he would disappear at any moment.

But Castiel was stable and content, and he tried to let that feeling pass on to Dean. He wrapped his wings around their bodies, hoping that they would bring some measure of comfort as well. Eventually the young man’s grip relaxed as his breathing evened out and his soul settled. Castiel smiled as he heard a light snore start to emit from Dean’s throat. That was new. The angel looked forward to learning more new things about Dean, even the mundane ones like what his snore sounded like.

But there was still something that had to be dealt with before Castiel could relax into his new life with Dean. Once he was sure that the young man was slumbering deeply, he carefully extricated himself from Dean’s arms, tugging a blanket over the hunter to keep him warm in his absence, and then strode outside of what turned out to be an old house on a lonely road in the woods. He stood in the yard, extending his senses. He fought back a grimace when he detected the familiar presence. So Azazel had been alerted to his return, and he had decided to come deal with it himself. But this time the angel would not be so easily manipulated.

“I know you’re out there,” he said calmly. “Our last conversation was so pleasant, why not have another?”

“I never knew you choir boys were this reckless,” Azazel said conversationally as he materialized from the shadows. He was wearing a different human this time, but his demonic face was unmistakable.

Castiel’s instincts screamed at him, urging him to leap forward and plunge his sword into the demon’s chest. But he was stopped by the memory of Azazel’s power, pinning the angel down and tearing him apart as if it were the simplest feat in the world. Castiel knew that this was a fight that he could not yet win. But there was no reason for Azazel to know that as well.

“It’s not reckless if I know I can win,” Castiel told him. “You can’t take me by surprise with trickery this time, and we both know that you cannot best me when I’m prepared.”

The demon did not bother to deny it. But he still gave Castiel an ugly smirk.

“Do you think I’ve forgotten about your little human weakness?” he asked, jerking his head back towards the house.

“Of course not. But I am also fully aware that you cannot do anything to him.”

“Oh, do you think so?” asked Azazel with a raised eyebrow. “You may not have noticed, but I’m powerful, and Dean is not. I can do whatever I want to him.”

“No, you can’t, for three reasons,” said Castiel, his voice still calm though tightly controlled rage was swirling through him. “The first is one that I am sure you are aware of, though you did make a convincing bluff, I’ll grant you that.”

“And what’s that?”

“Michael.” Castiel allowed himself the smallest of smiles when he saw the demon blanch at the name. “You know that my brother has claimed Dean for his own. And while you may not fear me, even you know better than to cross an archangel when your master is still locked away and unable to help you.”

“And the second reason?” Azazel asked through clenched teeth.

Castiel stepped closer to him, letting his angel blade slip into his grasp and his wings flare out behind him in what was still an impressive display, despite the beating they had taken.

“Me,” he stated firmly. “I am a soldier of heaven, and I have made it my task to protect Dean Winchester. You should know what that means.”

“You’re barely around,” Azazel said scornfully. “What’s to stop me from getting Dean during the months that you’re not lurking at his side?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked, because that brings me to the third reason,” said Castiel. “And that is Dean himself. He is not a child anymore, and he is perfectly capable of defending himself. Your underestimation of the Winchesters will be your downfall, and I look forward to watching it.”

“You think that destiny and centuries of planning can be thrown off by one scrawny angel and a hunter with a rock for a brain?” Azazel asked scornfully.

“I think that free will is an intensely powerful force to reckon with.”

“Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we,” the demon sneered.

“I suppose we will,” said Castiel. “And don’t think for a moment that I’ve forgotten about Sam. He is under my protection as well.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t want to hurt Sammy.”

“You will stay away from him,” Castiel commanded, letting his grace manifest as light that poured from him, shining from his eyes and forcing the demon back a few steps.

Azazel raised his hands complacently, squinting slightly.

“Fine,” he said. “I won’t go anywhere near him.”

Castiel knew that the promise did not mean much, but he did not get the opportunity to issue another threat, because Azazel vanished abruptly. Castiel let his grace fade and some of the tension flow out of his stance, though worry lingered. He had taken care of the demon for a moment, but he knew that his adversary would not give up so easily. Azazel was clever, patient, powerful, and motivated, and that was a potentially devastating combination. Castiel knew that the Winchesters had beaten him before, but at a terrible cost.

But this time they had an angel on their side. Castiel would not let them go through that again, no matter what he had to do about Azazel. He went back inside, returning contentedly to the peace of Dean’s presence, holding his hunter close as the night wore on.

Dean must have been truly exhausted, because he slept well into the morning, far more than the mere four hours he had once claimed to require. Castiel did not mind though. It gave him time to enjoy getting used to the fact that things were finally working out, that he finally felt like he was where he belonged for the first time since he had begun to question the harsh orders meted out by heaven.

Castiel glanced down at Dean as the young man finally began to stir. Dean frowned and grumbled unintelligibly, squirming closer to Castiel. Then his eyes flew open and he stared at the angel wonderingly.

“You’re still here,” he said softly, reaching out to touch Castiel’s face.

“I told you I would be,” Castiel replied, covering Dean’s hand with his own as he was reminded powerfully of that morning in the park, after a night spent watching the stars. One day Dean would not be surprised to find the angel by his side when he awoke.

“I know, but…I was afraid it was just a dream,” Dean admitted. “It’s, uh, happened before.”

Castiel sighed, pierced with regret for the years of pain and grief that Dean had gone through because of him. He leaned toward Dean, kissing him firmly.

“I’m real,” he promised when he pulled away, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And I’m really here with you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, then pulled the angel to his chest and held him tightly. Castile could no longer see his face, but he could feel the hum of Dean’s soul, overflowing with a tangle of emotions.

“God, Cas,” Dean whispered roughly after a long moment. “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said again.

“No-just…I’m so glad you’re here.” Dean pressed his face into Castiel’s hair, not loosening his grip.

“As am I,” Castiel said sincerely.

“What _happened_ , Cas?” Dean asked. “Last time I saw you, the yellow eyed demon was pulling you apart. Then you were just _gone_ and he said you were dead, and he put me back where I came from like he couldn’t even be bothered to kill me. I prayed and prayed to you, and I tried so hard to find that demon, to find you, but…”

The hunter pulled in a deep, shaky breath, and Castiel sent him a soothing pulse of comfort through their bond.

“The demon injured my wings severely, which made navigating through time extremely difficult,” he explained. “I managed to make my way to…a place I sincerely hope I never have to see again. I recovered there, and I came to some important conclusions. Then I found my way back to you.”

Dean was silent for a moment. Castiel could feel his confusion, but he did not want to tell him about that dark and irreparable future. Dean had enough to worry about as it was.

“But why was the demon after you in the first place?” Dean asked eventually, pulling back slightly to look the angel in the face and tracing a gentle finger over the fading scars that Azazel’s claws had left on his cheek. “And why did it just leave? Why _three years_ , Cas?”

“I did what I thought I had to,” Castiel said with a sigh. “The demon saw me as a threat. It wanted to get rid of me, and it knew just how to do it. By the time I figured out what to do, I had gotten so lost that it’s a miracle I made it back to you at all. I had no influence over when I landed, but I am sorry for all of the pain that it caused you.”

Dean sighed, and Castiel could tell that he was not completely satisfied with the answer. The angel could not blame him; he had left quite a bit out.

“But you’re good now; you’re okay?” was all Dean asked. Castiel gave him a tender smile, squeezing his hand.

“Yes,” he promised firmly. “I am well, and I’ve sorted everything out.”

“Okay,” said Dean, meeting his gaze. “Okay.”

His face broke into a dazed smile, and he leaned in to kiss the angel. It was tender and unhurried, because it could be. It felt wonderful, but Castiel leaned away after a moment. He was reluctant to damage Dean’s good mood, but there was something that he had to know.

“Dean, when I arrived, you were crying,” he said hesitantly. “What was wrong?”

Dean’s smile slipped, and he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I’m fine, Cas,” he promised. “I was just having a really rough night. Sam got into Stanford, and Dad basically told him that he wouldn’t be a part of the family anymore if he went, and he left anyway. I tried _so hard_ to keep us all together, but they were both so angry…Anyway, I gave Sam a ride to the bus station, and by the time I got back, Dad was gone. I’m sure he’ll call eventually, once he blows off some steam, but I just…my family had just fallen to pieces around me, and you were gone, and I…” he trailed off, and Castiel sent him another pulse of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t blame Sammy for leaving. He’s always hated hunting. And you know how brilliant he is. Hell, he got a full ride to friggin _Stanford_. He deserves the life he wants, I just…”

“You feel betrayed. Abandoned,” Castiel supplied.

“I guess,” said Dean. “Mostly I’m just gonna miss him though.”

“I understand,” Castiel told him. “But this doesn’t mean that you can never see him again. You can still be a part of his life.”

“I know,” Dean said, though his expression said something else. Castiel sighed.

“But you won’t go see him, will you?”

Dean shook his head.

“No. Like I said; he deserves to have a life away from hunting. I’ll always be a reminder of what he’s trying so hard to run away from.”

Castiel could not really argue with that, given the fact that it had been Dean who pulled Sam back to hunting in 2005. But the idea that Dean would never see his brother again saddened him tremendously. He would work on that.

Dean sighed, releasing Castiel and slipping out of the bed.

“You want some breakfast?” he asked the angel. “We have cereal and, uh, cereal.”

“No thank you,” Castiel told him. “Although I believe this is when you usually have lunch. It has gotten rather late.”

He frowned when Dean’s face fell and his shoulders slumped.

“Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you sometime then. Just travel safely, okay?”

“What?” Castiel asked, bewildered. Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Aren’t you leaving again?” he asked. “You’ve already stayed longer than usual, and if you don’t want to eat with me…”

Suddenly Castiel understood. He supposed that he had earned Dean’s doubt. He had never exactly been a steady presence in the hunter’s life. Dean had no way of knowing how much had changed for Castiel.

“Do you want me to leave?” the angel asked.

“I never want you to leave,” Dean said softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Castiel got up, walking over to Dean and gently lifting his chin so that their gazes met.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised firmly. Dean blinked.

“You mean, you’re staying?” he asked dazedly. “For good?”

“As long as you want me.”

Dean stared at the angel, and Castiel could feel the awe and raw joy that swelled up within his soul. Then Dean lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Castiel, pulling him closer so that their lips met fiercely. A feeling of intense relief and peace swept through Castiel as he leaned into the kiss. Relief because this was his Dean, safe and whole, and he got to keep him. The feeling of rightness and purpose was blissful.

He barely noticed as the kiss turned into something else, until he felt Dean tugging at his clothes. When he pulled away to look at Dean’s face, he saw that it was flushed, the man’s eyes bright with what Castiel realized was lust.

“Is this okay?” Dean asked, running his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

As the angel opened himself up to the full spectrum of Dean’s emotions, felt the bond between them glowing brighter than ever, he realized that it was. His only other sexual experience had been in that brothel that Dean had dragged him to. That had felt all wrong, but this…nothing had felt quite this right to Castiel.

He nodded, shrugging out of his trench coat before pulling Dean to him again. Though this was all utterly new to him, he was unafraid, unwavering in his conviction and longing. Because all he wanted in that moment was to be closer to Dean, so close that they were truly one, and miraculously Dean wanted that too.

They spent the rest of the morning exploring each other, and what it was like to be utterly content.

ooooooooooooo

Later in the afternoon, Castiel helped Dean pack his few belongings into the impala. The hunter did not want to remain in the house that reminded him of the loss of his family, and the road was calling to him.

“You know, it’s weird,” said Dean as he dropped his duffel bag into the trunk and glanced back at the house.

“What is?”

“You turned one of the worst moments of my life into one of the best. But I guess that’s what you do. You make things better.”

Castiel smiled, touched by the compliment. It meant a lot to hear Dean saying that the angel had been a positive presence in his life, when he had been worried for so long about being the opposite. But the reminder about Dean’s other experiences in this house made Castiel anxious to address another worry.

“Would you mind if I went to check on Sam?” he asked. “I’m sure that he made it to school, but I want to see him for myself, and let him know that I’m all right.”

Dean hesitated, but then he nodded with a sigh.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he said. “I didn’t tell him exactly what happened with us and yellow-eyes, but he could tell that it was something bad. And he missed you too, Cas. You should go see him. Just…just make sure he knows that our dad wasn’t speaking for both of us when they were fighting. Are you okay to make the trip by yourself, or do you need a ride?”

“I can manage on my own, thank you. I’ll meet up with you later.”

“Just not too much later,” said Dean, a smile creeping across his face. “We’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

“I’ll only be gone for a few hours,” Castiel told him, sealing his promise with a kiss.

Then he extended his wings, letting them carry him towards the familiar glow of Sam’s soul. He rematerialized in a small room with white cinderblock walls, a bed and a desk on each side. He heard a soft thump, turning to see Sam, standing beside the shopping bags that had just slipped through his fingers. Now Castiel knew when Sam’s growth spurt had occurred. His friend was more than half a foot taller than he had been the last time they had seen each other.

“Hello Sam,” said Castiel, smiling as he took in the sight of his friend, whole and healthy and his own person.

“Oh my god,” Sam gasped.

Castiel’s smile widened as he was reminded of his very first meeting with Sam, when the hunter had said the exact same words. Except this time, instead of extending a hand for the angel to shake, Sam just hurried forward and pulled Castiel into a hug that would have suffocated lesser creatures.

“You’re all right,” the young man whispered, and Castiel thought that he heard a trace of tears in his voice. “Thank god; you’re all right.”

But then his friend pulled away abruptly, landing a solid punch on the angel’s arm. Castiel rubbed the spot, wishing that the Winchesters would stop hitting him.

“That’s for what you did to Dean and me,” Sam told him. “I’m sure you had a good reason, but…we were _devastated_ man. Where the hell have you _been_? Does Dean know you’re okay?”

“Yes, Dean knows. I was just with him. And as I explained to him, I got lost for a while, but everything is fine now.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Just like that?” he asked incredulously. “Cas, three years ago, Dean showed up out of nowhere, covered in blood, and he wouldn’t tell me what happened, but he was a complete wreck, and I knew it had something to do with you, and then you never showed up again, and I thought…”

“I know,” Castiel said with a sigh. “And I am sorry for the pain that I caused you and your brother. Believe me when I say that it was not intentional.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. He hugged Castiel again.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said. “Wait. Does that mean Dean’s here? You always show up near him.”

“No, Dean is still near the house that you were staying in. I flew here.”

“Oh,” Sam said, his face falling slightly.

Castiel examined him more closely, frowning at the unhappiness he could see in his friend.

“Is this not what you wanted?” he asked, gesturing at the dorm room around them and all that it symbolized. Sam sighed.

“I wanted to go to college, to not have to worry about fighting for my life or watching my family get hurt. But I didn’t want to get cut off from everyone that I care about. But now my dad hates me, and my brother…”

“Misses you, but respects your choices,” Castiel finished for him.

“He said that?”

“Yes. If you don’t see him around, it is because he wants you to be safe and free, not because he has forsaken you. He said to tell you that your father did not speak for him.”

Sam let out a shaky breath.

“I’m worried about him,” he admitted. “He won’t admit it, but he hates being alone, and our dad isn’t exactly the best company.”

“He is not alone,” Castiel told Sam, enjoying the words. “He has me now.”

Sam stared at the angel, an odd look creeping across his face.

“You’re staying with him?” he asked. “Permanently?”

Castiel nodded.

“Is that acceptable to you?” he asked, suddenly concerned. He had never really considered what Sam’s reaction would be to having an angel fall in love with his brother.

But then Sam’s face lit up with a laugh, and Castiel relaxed.

“Of course, Cas,” Sam said. “Of course. I mean, Dean’s been in love with you for years. And it’s not like he could ever meet anyone better than you.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel said with a smile.

“No, thank you. For staying. You mean the world to Dean, and I know I’ll feel better here knowing he’s got you.”

“It’s my privilege,” Castiel told him earnestly.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well, wait ‘til you’ve lived with him for a while,” he warned. “You may start to think differently when you realize just how irritating it is to listen to the same five cassette tapes over and over, or start finding his dirty underwear in your bag. Or when he starts pulling pranks on you. Or when-”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Castiel interrupted.

“Yeah, me too,” said Sam, grinning. “But if you ever want some more sophisticated company, you know where to find me.”

“Of course. And if you ever need me, just pray for me, and I’ll come.”

Sam smiled warmly at the angel.

“Thanks, man.”

Castiel returned the smile. He was not sure what else to say, but he did not want to leave his friend just yet.

“Do you need help unpacking?” he inquired. Sam chuckled wryly.

“Would you believe that I actually already finished?” he asked.

Castiel glanced around the room, which looked completely barren. Of course, the Winchesters had always travelled light, so it should not have been surprising that Sam’s new room seemed empty. Sam picked up the plastic bags that he had dropped when he saw the angel.

“But you can help me make my bed,” he said. “I was just at the store buying some sheets and stuff, because pretty much all I brought with me were a couple of outfits.”

“Do you at least have holy water and a gun?” Castiel asked, suddenly concerned about his friend’s readiness for potential attacks. Leaving the world of hunting did not make him immune to supernatural attention. Sam sighed.

“I’m good, Cas,” he said. “I still know how to defend myself, and believe me, Dean made sure I had enough weapons when he dropped me off. But it’s college. I doubt I’ll need the small arsenal hidden beneath my bed. Besides, I’ve got an angel on call now, right?”

“I just want you to be safe, Sam,” Castiel told him. The young man’s face softened.

“I know. And thanks. Now are you gonna help me make this bed, or not?”

Castiel agreed to help, and took the piece of fabric that Sam had just removed from its packaging. As it turned out, the angel had no idea how to make a bed, and he wound up slowing the process down considerably as Sam tried to correct his mistakes with a straight face.

Eventually Castiel managed to get himself tangled in one of the blankets, and Sam was trying to extricate him when the door opened. A young man entered, raising an eyebrow at the chaos that greeted him.

“Oh, hey,” Sam said distractedly. “Cas, this is my new roommate, Brady. Brady, this is my brother, Cas.”

“Hi, Cas,” said Brady, reaching out a hand.

Brother. Sam had called him brother. He could have simply said friend, but he did not. Castiel was stunned by how much the word meant to him.

He realized eventually that both men were staring at him as he stood there, trapped in a blanket and smiling foolishly. He freed one of his arms, reaching out to shake the hand that Brady had extended.

“Hello,” he said. He studied the young man carefully, looking for a sign that he was anything more than a typical harmless college student. But Brady was entirely human, and his soul and intentions seemed clear, so Castiel was satisfied.

“I should go,” he told Sam, not wanting to overstay his welcome now that the other man was there.

“Okay. I’ll walk you out,” Sam replied for Brady’s benefit.

He peeled the blanket away from Castiel, and the two of them left the room. They walked through the halls of the dormitory, which were packed with families moving their students in. They went out to the back lot, where no one would see Castiel disappear. Sam gave the angel another hug.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Cas,” he said again. “Thank you for coming. Keep Dean out of trouble.”

“That’s not possible,” Castiel informed him. Sam laughed.

“Yeah, I guess not. Well, just don’t let him get into trouble alone.”

“I won’t. Enjoy your time here, Sam, and don’t hesitate to call for me.”

“Deal,” said Sam. He clapped Castiel on the shoulder. “Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye. Brother.”

Castiel enjoyed the sight of Sam’s broad smile as he flew back to the warm beacon of Dean’s soul. He landed in the passenger seat of the impala, and Dean glanced over at him.

“Hey. How is he?” the hunter said.

“Sam is fine, Dean,” Castiel assured him. “He misses you though. You could at least call him.”

“Yeah, maybe sometime,” Dean said gruffly.

Castiel sighed, realizing that Dean needed more time to work through his feelings about Sam’s departure. Well, he could give him time. They had plenty of it now.

 The angel looked at the road stretching before them, just starting to glow with the red tinge of sunset.

“So where are we going?” he asked.

He felt a calloused hand slip into his, and he met Dean’s warm gaze.

“Anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the end of the chapter is incredibly cheesy, but I figured you guys deserved it after some of the other stuff I've put you through. But this is not the end of the story. There is more plot coming, so be afraid, be very afraid.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the stupidly long delay in posting this chapter. Real life happened.

Dean and Castiel spent a few days just driving without a destination, getting used to each other’s constant company and the fact that there was no inevitable parting looming before them. They would usually check into a motel for the night, but on some nice nights they would roll down the windows in the impala and curl up together in the backseat. Castiel would listen to the sounds of the world after dark while Dean slept peacefully against his chest.

“You know what one of the worst things was?” Dean asked on one such night, fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of Castiel’s shirt.

“What?”

“I couldn’t _feel_ you,” Dean said quietly. “My whole life, I’ve had this connection to you that I can feel in my chest. But I didn’t realize…it _hurt_ when you were gone, Cas. It was like someone had reached inside me and scooped out one of my lungs. I could still function, but I never felt right, never felt whole.”

Castiel closed his eyes, a powerful wave of regret tearing through him. He had only caught a glimpse of how much his absence had hurt Dean, but it was enough to give him an idea of how bad it was. The hunter’s sleep was often disturbed by nightmares that could only be soothed by the comfort of Castiel’s arms. He had seen how, nearly every morning, Dean was surprised to see the angel lying beside him. But all he could do was stay, one day after the next, and hope that one day that surprise would no longer be warranted.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Just promise me you won’t do that to me again,” Dean ordered. “I know you said it before, but I need to hear it again.”

“I will not leave you like that again,” Castiel promised solemnly, pressing a kiss into Dean’s hair.

He would say it a thousand times if it would make Dean feel better.

Their first hunt together came along naturally. They had stopped for breakfast in a diner in Montana, and there had been a rack of newspapers by the cash register. The headline caught Dean’s eye, as it proclaimed a recent spree of violent beheadings, and Castiel had agreed to investigate it with him.

It turned out that they worked well together. Castiel let Dean take the lead in interacting with the people involved in the case, and the angel provided his expertise and fighting skills gleaned over millennia of experience with the supernatural world. It took them less than three days to find and eliminate the headless horseman, of all things.

They took cases regularly after that. Castiel knew that Dean needed something to do, and he enjoyed the work himself. They made a powerful team, and the hunts brought them closer. Castiel could tell that Dean still missed his brother, but he stuck to the resolution of leaving him to his own life. He did send the angel to visit him once a week though, usually unobserved, though sometimes Castiel talked with Sam if he was not busy, and the reports of Sam’s continued safety and contentment reassured Dean. But nothing Castiel could say would make Dean go for a visit himself, so he stopped trying fairly quickly, knowing that Dean would go when he was ready.

It was over a month before John Winchester called his eldest son, and it was only because he needed help with a hunt, a fact that left Castiel furious and Dean simply resigned.

“He had no way of knowing if you were all right,” Castiel said, even as Dean was packing his bags for the drive to meet up with John.

“He knew I would’ve called if I’d gotten into trouble,” Dean placated. “And he would have come to help, just like we’re doing now.”

Castiel sighed, but he did not continue the argument, knowing that there was no point. Dean was never receptive to criticism of his father, and the angel did not want to turn the matter into a fight.

“Your father won’t be happy to see me,” he said, realizing that Dean had not mentioned him in his short phone conversation.

“It’ll be fine,” Dean promised, but his slight grimace told Castiel that the hunter was worried as well.

It turned out to be less of an issue than they had feared. John was waiting for them in a parking lot, and when Castiel climbed out of the impala after Dean, the older hunter simply blinked in surprise, then studied the angel shrewdly for a long moment.

“So you planning on sticking around this time, Castiel?” he asked eventually.

“Yes, sir,” Castiel said, figuring that it was best to be as respectful as possible in a situation like this.

John directed his gaze towards Dean, who nodded slightly.

“Good,” he said, giving them a nod of his own.

And that was the end of it. They successfully completed the hunt that John had called them for, and prepared to leave. Castiel was just about to climb into the impala after Dean, when John called his name. Castiel walked back to the older hunter, looking at him inquisitively.

“Hurt him like that again and I’ll kill you, angel or not,” John said calmly.

Castiel looked away, pain lancing through him at the reminder of the agony that he had put Dean through. Despite that, he was pleased that the man was at least showing some concern for his son’s emotional welfare.

“Understood,” Castiel told him.

They went on more frequent hunts with John after that, but they still worked the majority of their cases alone. They got into the occasional spat, their arguments usually about who was being too reckless on hunts, and occasionally whose turn it was to do the laundry (obviously it should always be Dean’s turn, because he was the only one who generated laundry, but Dean did not see it that way). But Sam assured Castiel that these sporadic disagreements were normal for all couples, and that he should not worry about it.

About six months after Castiel had arrived, Dean drove them out to a large empty parking lot for a store with an ‘out of business’ banner hung over the doors.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to buy anything here,” Castiel said, glancing at the darkened windows of the abandoned store.

“You think?” Dean asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “We’re not here for the store, Cas, we’re here for the parking lot.”

“Oh,” Castiel said dubiously, eyeing the cracked pavement and faded lines of paint in confusion. “It’s nice, I suppose.”

Dean shook his head with a long-suffering sigh, though the affectionate light in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

“It’s time you learned how to drive, Cas,” he explained. “I figured you would do the minimum amount of damage out here.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, and he stared at Dean.

“Are you sure?” he asked, knowing how much Dean cared about the impala.

Dean grimaced, but nodded.

“I have faith in you,” he said, clapping a hand on the angel’s shoulder. “I taught you how to use the microwave, and I can teach you how to drive a car.”

Castiel highly doubted that those two activities had much in common, but he nodded anyway, squaring his shoulders. Dean got out of the car, and Castiel slid over the driver’s seat.

“Okay, first thing’s first,” Dean said once he had situated himself in the passenger seat. “You do so much as scratch the paint, you fix it, got it?”

Castiel nodded, knowing full well that Dean would demand that he use his ‘angel mojo’ if he caused any damage to the car.

“Good. Second thing: buckle up.”

“But you never wear your seatbelt,” Castiel protested.

“That’s because I’m a competent driver,” Dean smirked.

“And I’m an angel of the Lord,” Castiel retorted. “I’m not going to crash.”

Dean just sighed, reaching across Castiel and fastening his seatbelt. The angel rolled his eyes, but did not argue further, especially when Dean put on his own seatbelt.

“Can I turn the car on now?” Castiel inquired impatiently.

“No, now you can adjust your mirrors so that you can see the road out of them.”

“Is this driving lesson going to actually involve driving at some point?” the angel asked grumpily.

“Not with that attitude,” Dean told him with a grin. Castiel glowered at him, and Dean’s smile only widened. “Mirrors.”

“We’re the same height, Dean.”

“Then check your mirrors anyway just to make sure.”

Castiel dropped his head to the steering wheel with a groan.

Despite the drama, the lesson actually did go well, and after a few more sessions, Castiel was a proficient driver. Not that it made much of a difference; Dean still insisted on doing all of the driving himself. Still, it made Castiel feel better that he could handle this one human practice on his own.

ooooooooooooo

While Castiel was content with the arrangement and enjoyed being in Dean’s company, he could not shake the feeling of dissatisfaction that plagued him. He loved this timeline, loved that he got to stay with Dean, but he could not help but think about the other Sam and Dean that he had abandoned. He slept very rarely, and usually only after being forced to expend his power, but when he did, his slumber was haunted by visions of Sam’s death and Dean’s possession by Michael. He was frequently struck by the urge to return to his search for that alternate timeline, but he had made a promise, and he intended to stand by it.

It took nearly a year for Castiel’s wanderlust to get so bad that Dean brought it up.

“Do you have someplace you’d rather be, Cas?” he asked one evening as he and the angel sat in a diner booth together.

The angel realized that he had been staring out the window for several minutes, and had lost track of the conversation completely.

“What?” he asked.

“You’ve been spacing out more and more lately,” Dean said with an irritated sigh. “You seem distracted, edgy. Look, if sticking around has gotten to be too much for you-”

“It’s not that,” Castiel told him. “It’s not, Dean,” he insisted when the hunter raised an incredulous eyebrow. “It’s just…do you remember when I told you about the timeline that I came from, the one in which you and Sam didn’t meet me until you were adults?”

“Yeah, of course,” the hunter said impatiently. “But then you said recently that there are different, diverging timelines, so we don’t have to worry about forgetting you, right?”

“Right, but that doesn’t mean that my original timeline has ceased to exist.”

“So you’re saying you want to go back there?” the hurt in Dean’s voice was unmistakable, and Castiel sighed.

“I don’t want to leave you, Dean,” he said. “And I won’t; certainly not permanently. But…I haven’t told you everything about the state in which I left that timeline.”

“Okay…” Dean drawled in a clear invitation for more information.

“Sam was dying.” Actually, he had already died, but Castiel did not feel the need to inform Dean of that much.

“What?” Dean asked, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. “What happened; what was wrong with him? You told me he was fine!”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Castiel said with a sigh, remembering that long ago conversation on a beach in Cape Disappointment, when he had first told Dean about the different timelines. “Especially when there was nothing you could do.”

“Well, that was the wrong call, but we’ll talk about it later,” Dean said impatiently. “What happened to my brother?”

“He was betrayed by someone whose life he saved,” Castiel said, remembering the horrific vision that he had seen in Mary Winchester’s head, of Anna ramming a rusty pipe through Sam’s torso. “She stabbed him.”

“So why didn’t you just heal him?” Dean demanded.

“I wasn’t there,” Castiel admitted, disgusted by the memory of how weak he was after his trip into the past. “And then I lost track of you and your brother. I believed that you had been sent to a different time, so a tried to follow you. I’ve been trying to get back to you ever since, to help Sam, and to assist you with…a rather serious situation that you were dealing with at the time.”

Castiel watched as Dean sat in silence, thinking over what the angel had told him.

“What kind of serious situation?” he asked eventually.

“It is not of import,” Castiel told him. He was lying, of course. The apocalypse was a rather weighty matter, but Dean did not need any more weight on his shoulders.

“But if you find us, them, whatever, you save Sam, you fix whatever mess they’re trying to clean up, then you’ll come back here, to me?” Dean asked.

“I will always come back to you,” Castiel promised, reaching across the table to take Dean’s hand. “We are connected, you and I, and nothing in any timeline could force me to give that up. But those versions of you and Sam are my friends too, and I owe them whatever help I can give.”

Dean smiled slightly. The two of them rarely exchanged words of love or affection, but it was always special when they did. He looked down at their interlaced fingers.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I guess I understand. I’m still not happy about you keeping this from me for so long, but I understand.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Dean dismissed casually. “So when do you want to leave?”

Castiel smirked indulgently when he heard Dean’s stomach growl. The food that the hunter had ordered had not yet been delivered.

“I think I can wait until after you’ve finished eating,” he said. “I would hate to leave you alone on an empty stomach.”

Dean grinned gratefully, and Castiel squeezed his hand. They enjoyed the rest of their time together at the diner, and Castiel accompanied the hunter to their latest motel. He stopped just outside the door, taking Dean’s arm gently.

“It’s time, Dean,” he said. The other man sighed.

“How do I know you’ll find your way back to the right version of me?” he asked. “How do I know I won’t have to go through another three years of worrying about you constantly, of seeing you out of the corner of my eye, and you never being there?”

Castiel gripped Dean’s shoulders, holding his gaze steadily.

“Trust me, Dean,” he said. “My connection to you is stronger than ever. Even if I don’t find what I’m looking for, I will be able to find my way back to you, of that I’m certain. And while I can’t promise that no time will go by in my absence, I am fairly confident in saying that it should not be more than a week before you see me again.”

Dean still did not look happy with this, but he did not protest further. Instead he leaned forward to press his lips to the angel’s, kissing him until they were both out of breath.

“Just in case you needed a little incentive to come back soon,” Dean said, a mischievous light in his eyes. Castiel smiled at him.

“I didn’t, but I can’t say I mind,” he said.

“Travel safe, Cas,” said Dean, his smile fading slightly at the imminence of their parting.

“I will see you soon, Dean,” Castiel promised.

He concentrated, slightly out of practice in the art of time travel. But he soon found his way back into that familiar space between dimensions, the terrifying torrent that bridged realities and spanned eons, and that a mere angel had next to no control over. He focused on the familiar tether of Dean’s timeline and let it carry him through the storm, until that all too familiar weakness forced him to slip back into reality.

The first thing that Castiel heard as he landed was the sound of a shotgun being cocked. He flinched instinctively, remembering the discomfort of his last encounter with a shotgun.

“Who are you?” a familiar, but very young voice asked with slightly trembling bravado.

“It’s me, Dean,” Castiel said, turning slowly so as not to startle his friend.

Dean was holding a shotgun that was almost as long as the boy was tall, but he handled it with familiarity. He was standing in front of a closed door, his feet spread in a defensive stance. The angel’s assurance did not seem to have the intended effect on him.

“You!” Dean gasped, his hands tightening on his gun. “What are you? Why do you keep following me?”

“What?” Castiel asked, but he suspected he knew what the problem was.

“This is the fourth time I’ve seen you since you were at my school!” Dean shouted, his voice full of frightened anger. “I know you’re not human, because you just appear and disappear, and I want to know what you are and why you’re following me. Make one move, and I’ll use this gun; don’t think I don’t know how!”

Castiel sighed. He should have been expecting this. After all, Dean was not the type to trust quickly, especially supernatural creatures.

“I’m not sure you’re going to believe me if I tell you,” the angel said hesitantly. Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“Try me,” he growled.

“All right,” Castiel said placatingly. “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose almost comically.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “Just because I’m a kid doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I know angels don’t exist.”

“Then what do you think I am?” Castiel inquired.

“I don’t know,” Dean said uncertainly. “A demon, maybe?”

Castiel hid a smile of amusement.

“Dean, if I were a demon, you would already be dead,” he said patiently. “But if you have some holy water, you’re welcome to test me with it.”

Dean said nothing, staring searchingly at Castiel without relaxing his grip on the shotgun. The angel stood still for his inspection, knowing that he did not have the energy to waste on a display that would convince him faster.

“An angel?” Dean repeated eventually, some of the disbelief having faded from his tone.

Castiel nodded.

“There’s not really much I can do to convince you now,” he said. “But I can promise that you will understand in the future.”

“Do, uh…do you like pie?” Dean asked, staring up at the angel.

Castiel blinked, baffled by the unexpected question.

“What?” he asked automatically, and Dean’s eyes hardened.

“Never mind,” the boy said, shaking his head angrily. “Fine,” he snapped eventually, after another long pause. “Fine, you’re an angel. Now get out.”

“Excuse me?” Castiel asked, tilting his head to the side slightly in the confused gesture that his Dean teased him about sometimes.

“Just because you’re an angel, doesn’t mean you get to follow me around,” Dean said heatedly. “And I want you to leave. Now.”

“I mean you no harm, Dean,” Castiel assured him. “I just keep appearing near you because…because I’m lost.”

“Yeah well, tough,” Dean told the angel. “That’s your problem, not mine, and I don’t want you coming near me.”

Castiel frowned. He could feel the hurt and anger swirling through Dean, and he wanted to alleviate it, or at the very least understand it.

“Is there some reason you’re harboring a prejudice towards my kind?” he asked.

Dean’s gaze dropped suddenly, and his shoulders slumped. He finally lowered his arms so that the gun was not pointed at Castiel, though he held onto it.

“Why weren’t you there?” he asked eventually.

“Where?”

“My mom told me that angels were watching over us,” Dean said, his eyes lifting again to meet Castiel’s accusingly. “But where were you when she needed you?”

“Oh,” said Castiel, realizing why Dean was so upset. Unfortunately, this did not seem to be the appropriate reaction.

“ _Oh?_ ” repeated Dean incredulously. “That’s all you have to say? I got over it, because I thought that angels didn’t exist. But now that it turns out you’re real, what does that mean for her? That you just didn’t care?”

“Dean…” Castiel began, but he paused when he heard the sound of a weak cough coming from behind the closed door.

Dean was instantly back on high alert, resuming protective position in front of the door and pointing his shotgun at Castiel.

“Not one step,” he warned.

Castiel studied the door behind Dean, extending his senses. It had to be Sam in there, but the angel should have sensed him much earlier than this. He frowned when he finally picked up the signal of his friend’s life force.

“Your brother is sick,” he said, concerned. He wanted to check on Sam, but knew that Dean would fill him with bullets before he even got to the door, and that was not how he wanted this encounter to go.

“How do you know about Sammy?” Dean asked suspiciously.

“Because you were wrong, before,” Castiel told him, meeting his gaze steadily. “I do care, Dean; about you and your family. I wasn’t lying about being your friend the first day you met me. I also wasn’t lying about being an angel, which is why I can tell from here that Sam’s condition is extremely poor.”

Dean bit his lip, still eyeing Castiel warily. Then his gaze flickered back to the door that hid his brother, and worry began to overtake his expression. He let out a heavy sigh, his body seeming to deflate.

“I’ve tried everything,” he said quietly, fear of a different kind lacing his tone. “I’ve never seen him this sick.”

“Let me see him,” Castiel requested.

“You can help him?” Dean asked with tentative hope.

“I will certainly do my best to,” Castiel promised.

Dean considered the angel for another moment, before nodding his head in acquiescence.

“Okay,” he agreed. “But I’ll be watching you. If you try anything…”

He did not finish the threat, probably because he knew there was not really much he could do against an angel. Since Castiel had no intention of harming either of the brothers, he made no comment on it.

“I take it your father is on another hunt,” he said disapprovingly as he approached the door.

“I tried calling him,” Dean said with a nod. “A bunch of times. But he won’t pick up.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Castiel told him, hearing the worry in his friend’s voice.

Any thoughts of John Winchester’s criminal irresponsibility were pushed to the back of Castiel’s head as he pushed open the door that Dean had been guarding so diligently, and got his first glimpse of Sam. The small boy was resting in a bathtub half full of water, in which Castiel could see chunks of ice floating. Sam looked terrible, his cheeks stained a dangerous pink with fever, while shadows like bruises ringed his hazel eyes, which were staring listlessly at nothing. He was clad only in boxers, and his bare chest was rising and falling with merely the shallowest of breaths. His unruly mop of hair was slicked back with sweat, and his body was wracked with tremors that Castiel could see from across the room. The angel felt a stab of pain in his heart.

“Oh, Sam,” he muttered, striding quickly across the room and kneeling beside the tub to place a hand on his friend’s forehead.

Sam was burning with fever. He did not even react to Castiel’s touch, so lost in the haze of his sickness that he did not even realize the angel was there.

“So what can you do?” Dean asked, peering at his little brother over Castiel’s shoulder.

“How long has he been like this?” the angel inquired, without answering the question.

“He’s had the fever for three days, but it got really bad a few hours ago,” Dean told him thickly. “At first he was complaining about having a sore throat and being achy, but then he got real quiet, and he wouldn’t answer me when I talked to him, and his skin was so hot…I got ice from the machine down the hall and put him in the tub with it, but he still won’t respond and I don’t think his fever is going down.”

Castiel was inclined to agree. He could not imagine that Sam’s fever could have been much higher than it was at the moment without him starting to seize.

“Tell me you can help him,” Dean pleaded.

Castiel closed his eyes, focusing on the hand that he still had resting on Sam’s forehead. He let his power seep through his friend, exploring his frail body. He frowned, and he could feel Dean’s worry increase in response.

“He has a kidney infection,” the angel told him before he could ask.

“Can you fix it?” Dean demanded.

Castiel sighed, opening his eyes and staring down at Sam. He was so young, five or six at the oldest. The angel was reminded of a similar situation, when an infant Dean had been the one burning with fever, and Mary had been plagued with fear. He knew that he did not have it in him to perform another miracle like the one he had produced that day.

“I can stabilize him enough to get him to the hospital,” he answered.

“No,” Dean protested immediately, shaking his head. “No hospitals. My dad said-”

“Your father is not here,” Castiel interrupted. “But if he were, he would hopefully have the good sense to say the same thing. Look at your brother, Dean. His fever is dangerously high, and I can’t do enough to help him on my own.”

“Then what kind of angel are you?” Dean asked accusingly.

“A very weak one, at the moment,” Castiel admitted. “But I’m afraid I’m the only one available.”

Dean glanced uncertainly between his brother and Castiel, clearly torn by indecision. The angel understood his reluctance to entrust Sam’s care to a virtual stranger, as well as the absolute strangers at the hospital. However, Sam’s condition was obviously dire, and he could not afford more wasted time. Castiel waited anxiously for Dean’s decision. He was going to take Sam to the hospital no matter what, but he would much rather do it with Dean’s permission.

“I’m gonna try calling my dad one more time,” Dean said at last. “If he doesn’t pick up, I’ll let you take Sammy to the hospital.”

“All right,” Castiel agreed, relieved. “I’ll do what I can for Sam now while you’re on the phone.”

Dean’s uncertain look remained, but he nodded.

“Fine,” he said, backing into the main room. “But if you hurt him…”

“I won’t,” Castiel promised sincerely.

That seemed to be good enough for Dean, because he finally turned away from his brother and the angel and walked to the phone on the nightstand between the two beds. Castiel seriously doubted that Dean would get a response from his father, but that was not his priority at the moment.

He focused his attention on Sam. The power that he had expended thus far had only been to detect the problem. This time, he worked on eradicating the infection that had taken hold of his friend’s system, and alleviating its more dangerous symptoms. He had to reserve enough energy to get them to the hospital, so once he had lowered Sam’s fever to a less critical level, he stopped his work.

As Castiel stood, swaying slightly from the exertion, Dean reentered the bathroom. The angel could tell from his expression that he had been unable to reach John. The boy eyed his little brother.

“He looks better,” he said hopefully. “Maybe we could just wait-”

“He looks better because I lowered his fever,” Castiel interrupted gently. “But the underlying infection is still there, and it won’t go away on its own. Sam needs medical treatment, Dean.”

Dean let out a heavy sigh, but he nodded.

“So do you want me to call an ambulance?” he asked in resignation.

“No.”

Castiel reached into the tub and scooped Sam out, cradling the boy to his chest, despite the frigid water that soaked into his clothes. Sam let out a faint whimper of protest, the first sign of awareness that Castiel had seen from him. Dean quickly took one of his brother’s hands.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean soothed. “You’re gonna be just fine. What are you doing to him?” he added, looking up at Castiel.

“I’m taking him to the hospital, like I said,” Castiel told him. “Grab my arm.”

“Are you gonna fly?” Dean asked, looking equal parts excited and horrified by the prospect as he obeyed the angel’s order.

“In a manner of speaking,” Castiel said with a small smirk as Dean shut his eyes tight and visibly braced himself.

The angel focused carefully, first locating the nearest hub of activity with the distinct signature of a healthcare facility. Then he extended his stiff wings and propelled himself and the Winchesters to it, landing just outside of a set of sliding doors. The sign that proclaimed it to be the emergency room told Castiel that he had found the right place.

“That was…” Dean began, unclenching his muscles and looking around at their new location in surprise.

“Underwhelming?” Castiel finished for him, Sam’s weight suddenly feeling greater. Damn, it was frustrating to be cut off from heaven.

“Kind of,” Dean agreed.

Castiel shook his head but made no further comment as he strode forward, the glass doors opening in front of him. The emergency room was bustling with a moderate level of activity, and Dean stayed close to the angel’s side as he went in search of someone to help Sam. He spotted a woman in scrubs who was not preoccupied with another patient, and approached her quickly.

“This boy needs medical attention,” he said, rather unnecessarily given Sam’s obvious ill health.

The woman peered down at Sam, who had closed his eyes and was trembling lightly.

“Drowning?” she asked, eyeing Sam’s dripping form.

“No,” Castiel said shortly. “Kidney infection.”

She raised her eyebrows at that, but simply nodded professionally. She pointed to a small room with a bed in it, a curtain hung across the entrance instead of an actual door.

“Take him in there,” she ordered.

When Castiel carried Sam into the indicated room, she started bustling around, checking the boy’s vitals.

“Are you his father?” she asked as she worked.

“Our dad is unreachable right now,” Dean cut in before the angel could answer. “Cas here is our uncle.”

Castiel simply nodded in agreement as he tried to look like that was not news to him. The nurse did not seem to question it, simply asking a few questions about Sam’s name and medical history, most of which Dean answered, providing the alias Greylin McElder.

“Okay,” the nurse said eventually. “I have to go check on some other patients, but someone will be with you in a moment.”

‘A moment’ turned out to be far longer than Castiel had anticipated.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asked abruptly as they waited.

“What, helping Sam?”

Dean nodded, and Castiel sighed.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m a friend before you believe it.”

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Dean said, though there was no anger in his voice. “Why would an angel care about us?”

“Because you and your brother are remarkable people,” Castiel said with a small smile. “Among other reasons, which I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand right now.”

“I hate it when adults tell me I wouldn’t understand something,” Dean complained.

“Well, one day you’ll be an adult too, and you’ll get to be the one saying it,” Castiel told him, though he knew it was small comfort.

Dean just let out a grumpy huff, saying nothing else as they waited. Eventually another nurse came into the room and introduced herself as Rachel.

“What seems to be the problem today?” she asked cheerfully.

Castiel stood to meet her, leaving Dean by his brother’s bedside.

“Sa-Greylin has a kidney infection,” the angel told Rachel. “His fever is currently 104.7 degrees, but it has been as high as 105.5, and he is mildly dehydrated. He needs immediate fluids and antibiotics.”

The nurse just blinked at him for a moment.

“Are you a doctor?” she asked, now sounding mildly irritated.

“No. That’s why we’re here,” Castiel said impatiently.

“Well, here we have protocols to follow,” Rachel told him. “We have to give him a proper diagnosis before we start administering-”

“Hey!” Dean’s frightened voice interrupted what would probably have turned into an argument.

Both adults turned toward the boys, and Castiel felt his heart clench when he saw that Sam had started seizing. He hurried to his friend’s side while the nurse stuck her head into the main ER and called for a doctor. The angel nudged Dean aside gently so that he could take hold of Sam’s tiny, spasming body. He let power flow through his fingers, seeping into Sam’s cells and healing as it went. The boy settled quickly, and Castiel collapsed into the chair beside his bed as the doctor finally rushed in.

While the incident was quite taxing on Castiel, it did have the benefit of expediting Sam’s treatment. The doctor quickly confirmed Castiel’s diagnosis, and admitted Sam so that he could start him on a course of antibiotics and fluids, as well as cooling blankets to lower his temperature more rapidly. Sam barely made a sound during any of this, still hazy and dazed from his fever. It did not take long for the medical personnel to do all that they could for him, and soon Dean and Castiel were left alone in Sam’s room, watching the young boy’s chest rise and fall as the monitor beside him showed his steadily beating heart.

“I’m sorry,” said Dean after about twenty minutes of silence, staring down at Sam’s hand, which he had barely let go of since they had gotten to the hospital.

“For what?” Castiel asked, confused.

“You were right,” Dean elaborated, his gaze still stubbornly fixed downward. “Sam needed a hospital. If he’d had that seizure in the motel, he could’ve…”

“You would not have let him die, Dean,” Castiel told his friend encouragingly. “I know you. You would have taken care of him.”

Dean’s lips curved into a tentative smile at that, but then he frowned.

“How _do_ you know me, Cas?” he asked. “You keep saying that you’re my friend, but I’ve only spoken to you once.”

“But you feel like you’ve known me your whole life, don’t you?” the angel guessed. Dean looked at him in surprise, but nodded.

“It’s weird,” he said. “Like I wasn’t lying when I told them that you were our uncle. You just seem so familiar. Why?”

Castiel sighed, leaning back in his chair as he thought about how to answer.

“Our destinies are intertwined, Dean,” he said at last. “In ways that I’m not sure even I understand completely yet.”

“I’m not sure I want that,” Dean admitted. “I mean, you seem nice and all, but…”

“I understand,” Castiel assured him with a wry smile. “It is a daunting prospect. But know that you can send me away whenever you like.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean snorted. “And have Social Services come after us? I don’t think so. It took Dad two weeks to get us out last time.”

Castiel grimaced, but he knew when to pick his battles. Criticizing Dean’s father for his negligence would do no good at this point. At any point, really.

“Then I will stay and be your fake uncle for as long as you need me,” he promised. Dean grinned at him.

“Yeah, well let’s try to keep your acting to a minimum,” he suggested. “You suck at it.”

It was Castiel’s turn to smile. The older Dean made similar comments nearly every time they worked a case together.

“So I’ve been told,” he said. “I’ll uh, let you do most of the talking then.”

“You do that.”

The two of them lapsed into a more comfortable silence. The day drew on, and Sam’s breathing seemed to ease, his sleep becoming deeper and hopefully more restful. Eventually the allotted visiting hours ended, but Castiel used his powers to cloak him and Dean from the nurses’ watchful gazes.

“How do you do that?” Dean asked in an awed whisper after another nurse had walked by the room without comment.

“I’m an angel, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean said, his countenance growing more serious again. “You never did answer my question back at the motel, you know.”

Castiel was about to ask him which question he was referring to, but the look on Dean’s face was enough.

“About your mother?” he checked.

Dean nodded silently.

“She wasn’t lying to you, about having angels watching over you,” Castiel began. “But angels are not perfect or all-powerful, Dean. We cannot be everywhere at once, and there are certain powers we cannot fight. Your mother was taken from you by one of those powers.”

It was a terrible explanation, and Dean clearly knew it, but he did not press Castiel further. Instead he focused intently on his brother, maintaining his watchful vigil until he could no longer keep his eyes open, despite his stubbornness. He fell asleep in his chair, and Castiel lifted him gently onto the bed beside Sam, careful not to disturb any of the tubes or wires that were connected to the youngest Winchester. He knew they would both sleep better that way.

The angel kept watch over them throughout the rest of the night, until the light of dawn made both of them stir. He looked on tenderly as Dean checked on his confused brother, explaining where they were and assuring Sam that he would be all right. Castiel used his invisibility again, and every time Sam awoke after that, knowing that it was not time for Sam to meet him yet, but he gave Dean’s shoulder a gentle squeeze to let his friend know that he was still there. Sam’s condition continued to improve, helped along by occasional bursts of energy from the angel. Dean grew more and more at ease with Castiel, though he never lost his watchful look.

When Castiel was satisfied that Sam’s infection was completely gone, about three days after his admission to the hospital, he waited until Sam fell asleep, then took both boys back to their motel room. John had clearly not been there, and Castiel wondered if he had even called the room in the time that his children had been in the hospital. He shook off the thought and placed Sam gently on one of the beds. Dean took over from there, tucking his brother under the covers and making sure that he did not stir. Then the older boy turned to Castiel, looking uncertain.

“Will you be all right alone with him until your father gets back?” Castiel asked. Dean nodded firmly. “Then I’ll go now.”

“Okay,” Dean said, looking more relaxed. He was clearly still not entirely comfortable with the angel’s presence, which Castiel supposed he understood. “Um, thanks.”

Castiel gave him a nod and a smile before shaking out his wings and taking off, returning to the timestream. Now came the tricky part. He could not just drift on this trip; he had to return to a specific time. But it was surprisingly easy to pinpoint the section of Dean’s timeline that he wanted. It had a stronger glow of sorts, and it was not as difficult as Castiel had been expecting to work his way towards it. Sooner than he had thought possible, he was slipping back into the physical plane.

Before he even had a chance to examine his surroundings, Castiel found himself being pulled into an urgent kiss. He smiled against Dean’s lips as the hunter wrapped his arms around him, fingers tangling in his dark hair. He returned the kiss with enthusiasm.

“Hello Dean,” he said cheerfully when they finally pulled apart.

“Hello yourself,” Dean replied, his eyes bright.

“I take it I was gone for some time?” Castiel asked, finally getting the chance to look around at where they were.

They were standing on a large patch of grass next to a picnic table, which held a burrito and chips, most likely Dean’s lunch, purchased from the convenience store that Castiel could see nearby.

“Two weeks,” Dean told him. “Which I guess isn’t too long, comparatively speaking, but I still missed you. Besides, you said no more than a week.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said taking his hand.

“It’s fine,” Dean said casually, but he had clearly been worried. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No,” Castiel admitted with a sigh. “I was still in this timeline.”

“Oh. When?” Dean asked curiously, pulling the angel down to sit beside him at the picnic table and starting to eat the lunch he had abandoned.

“Somewhere in the 80’s,” Castiel replied. “It was very early for you; you barely knew who I was.”

Dean paused in his chewing, staring at Castiel thoughtfully.

“When Sam had that nasty fever?” he asked, his voice sounding odd. “ _That’s_ where you were?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, nodding hesitantly. “Is something wrong with that?”

“No, I just…I had no idea that hadn’t happened for you yet.”

Castiel stared patiently at his boyfriend, knowing that there was more to it. Dean sighed.

“That was a big deal,” he said eventually. “I never would have tried to stop you from going if I’d known.”

“Well you didn’t stop me, and your brother is fine,” Castiel said gently.

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean said, his eyes unfocused as he stared over Castiel’s shoulder. “I didn’t believe you, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t believe that you were really an angel, even after you helped Sam and got us to the hospital,” Dean elaborated. Castiel raised an eyebrow.

“What did you think I was then?” he asked curiously.

“I didn’t know,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I guess that after all the crap I’d seen, even when I was that young, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that I had someone like you looking out for me. I didn’t want to face the disappointment if I was wrong.”

“When did you finally accept it?”

“When you saved us from those demons,” Dean said with a small smile at the memory. “We were done for, and then you just showed up out of nowhere and took down that demon like it was nothing.”

“Did I make it look that easy?” Castiel asked dryly. “It was extremely difficult and unpleasant.”

“Well, it was kind of hard to tell, because Dad shot you like two seconds later,” Dean said with a wry grimace. Castiel chuckled.

“Yes, your father took quite some time to warm up to me,” he said. “Actually, I’m still not sure he has.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he was sold on you after the whole shapeshifter incident.”

“What whole shapeshifter incident?” Castiel asked. Dean blinked.

“Uh, never mind,” he said quickly. Castiel just shook his head.

“I guess this wasn’t my last trip into the past then,” he said.

“Looks that way,” Dean agreed.


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel made trips into the timestream about once a month. Try as he might to work his way out of his current timeline and back into the one that he had originally left, he always found himself back in the Winchesters’ pasts. While he did not mind these visits, they got him no closer to his goal of helping the Sam and Dean of 2010 avert their apocalypse.

“Any luck?” Dean asked when the angel returned from one such trip, landing in the passenger seat of the impala.

Castiel shook his head. He had gotten better at landing closer to when he had left, and Dean’s relaxed expression told him that he had not been gone for too long.

“No,” he said, glancing out the window at the rocky slopes of the mountains they were driving through. “1994. You spent about half an hour trying to convince me to turn Sam’s hair blue, and the rest of the time sulking because I wouldn’t do it.”

Dean chuckled at the memory.

“Oh yeah,” he said, voice tinged with amusement and nostalgia. “I remember being so disappointed when you wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t understand the point of being best friends with an angel if said angel wouldn’t even help me prank my little brother.”

“I’m sorry I was such a disappointment,” Castiel said, rolling his eyes. “But Sam probably wouldn’t have understood the point of being friends with an angel if said angel wouldn’t even protect him from getting his hair turned blue.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed absently, and there was a questionable look in his eye that Castiel had learned to distrust.

“What did you do to him?” the angel asked suspiciously.

“Hey, it grew back,” Dean told him defensively.

“What grew back?”

Dean bit his lip, sending his partner a sidelong glance.

“His hair,” he admitted.

“You didn’t,” Castiel said sternly, though a smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh, I did,” Dean said, chuckling. “He got me back for it of course, but man was it funny to see the look on his face when his hair started falling out.”

Castiel sighed, shaking his head. Even though he saw so much of the brothers’ antics, he still did not always understand them. It was part of their dynamic though, and it seemed to work for them. Castiel had simply learned that it was best not to interfere or take sides.

The angel glanced out of the window again. The glass was rolled down slightly, allowing crisp mountain air to flow through the car. He pulled in a deep breath, turning the handle to lower the window further. He smiled as the wind hit him, ruffling his hair and making him feel as though he were flying, the kind that he used to do for fun, before he had been forced to become so economical with his energy use.

The impala’s engine growled, and the car sped up. As the memories of flying intensified, Castiel shot a grateful glance towards Dean. The hunter knew how much his partner enjoyed the speed, and did his best to grant it whenever he could.

They drove like that for a while, neither of them saying anything over the roar of the wind. Eventually though, Castiel could see that Dean was getting cold, so he rolled up his window and sat back in his seat.

“Are we on a case?” he asked into the sudden silence.

“Just finished it actually.”

Castiel blinked.

“How long was I gone?” he asked, surprised. They had not been doing anything when he left.

“Two days,” Dean said with a grin. “You seem to be forgetting that I’m one of the greatest hunters to ever live.”

“It was a simple salt and burn, wasn’t it?” Castiel asked knowingly.

“Maybe,” Dean admitted with a grimace. Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. “Took me about four hours, and most of that was digging up and then refilling the grave.”

“That’s what I thought,” Castiel said smugly.

ooooooooooooo

When Castiel made his next weekly visit to Sam, the young man was sitting at a table set for three outside of a small café. His leg was bouncing up and down nervously, but when he saw the angel, his face lit up.

“Oh good, you’re here,” he said, standing to give Castiel a quick hug. “I was hoping you wouldn’t make a liar out of me.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said as they both sat down.

“Well, you’re usually pretty punctual when you visit,” Sam explained, glancing around as if he were looking for someone, which was likely, given the extra place setting. “But I didn’t seen you last week, so I wasn’t sure you’d be here. Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” Castiel assured him. “I was just, um, away.”

“You’ve started time traveling again, haven’t you?” Sam asked, a hint of disapproval creeping into his tone.

“With your brother’s blessing,” the angel told him. “And for much shorter periods of time. I still fully intend to stay with Dean, I just have something else that I need to do as well.”

Whatever Sam might have been about to say to that was cut off as he focused on something over Castiel’s shoulder and stood up with a grin. The angel followed suit, turning to see a beautiful young woman walking towards them. Sam took her hand and kissed her on the cheek when she reached their table, then looked back at Castiel.

“Jess, this is my brother, Castiel,” he introduced. “Cas, this is Jessica Moore, my girlfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cas,” Jessica said with a bright smile, reaching out to shake the angel’s hand. “Sam has told me so much about you.”

Castiel glanced at Sam, whose expression clearly said that he had not told her nearly everything, especially about him not being human. But he returned the handshake and smiled warmly at Jessica, knowing how much she meant to Sam.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” he said sincerely. “I look forward to getting to know you better.”

They all took their seats around the table and began perusing the lunch menus set out for them. Despite the fact that he was inching closer to human status, Castiel still did not have to eat. He did enjoy it occasionally though, and he knew that it would look strange if he did not get anything.

Evidently he was doomed to look strange either way though, because the waiter looked at him askance when he ordered a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Apparently some of the menu items were only intended for children under the age of twelve, a population to which the angel categorically did not belong. Castiel was willing to select something else, but Sam insisted that he get the desired sandwich. The waiter looked a bit put out by the entire situation, but he agreed to place the order.

“So you’re a man of simple tastes, huh Castiel?” Jess asked when the waiter had left, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“I suppose,” Castiel said. “I like pancakes and bacon as well, but those weren’t on the menu.”

“Well, we’ll have to go out for brunch sometime,” Jess suggested. “I’m a fan of breakfast foods myself.”

“I do not understand why some foods are designated as only appropriate for certain mealtimes, or for children,” Castiel said, letting his irritation with these nonsensical human restrictions seep into his tone.

“Neither do I,” Jess said with mock seriousness. “It’s a heinous social construct that should really be done away with.”

They launched into a conversation about the arbitrary rules and regulations that governed society. Sam jumped in to offer his opinions on the subject, and Castiel watched with interest as his friend interacted with Jessica. Sam looked at her the way Castiel sometimes caught Dean looking at him, when he thought the angel was not looking. It was a look of tenderness and love, mixed with a hint of surprise. Castiel had once asked Dean what the surprise was for, and the hunter had told him with a shake of his head that it was disbelief that he had gotten so lucky. If that was how Sam felt about Jessica, then Castiel could understand why they would still be together three years later, and why her death would have affected Sam so deeply.

The thought reaffirmed Castiel’s conviction that he had done the right thing, made the right choices. By staying with the Winchesters and altering their timeline so heavily, he had ensured that Sam would be able to keep this life that he had worked so hard for. The angel would be able to protect his friend from the heartbreak of losing Jessica, and the misery of the life that followed.

Castiel found himself enjoying their lunch together immensely, even when Sam and Jess teased him for his meal choices. The time went by quickly, and all too soon he and Sam were walking Jessica to her car.

“This was fun,” Jess said, echoing the angel’s thoughts. “It was so nice to meet you, Cas. See you again sometime?”

Castiel glanced at Sam, who smiled encouragingly.

“Yes,” Castiel told her with a smile. “I believe I owe you brunch.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jess laughed.

She pulled Castiel into a quick hug, then gave Sam a kiss on the cheek before getting into her car.

“Thank you for this, Sam,” Castiel said as they watched Jessica drive away.

“For what?” his friend asked, that smitten smile still lingering on his face.

“For not shutting me out of your life; for introducing me to your girlfriend even though I’m a supernatural creature,” Castiel elaborated. “That can’t have been easy.”

“Cas, to me, you’re family first and angel second,” Sam said sincerely. “I trust you with my life, and I trust you around my girlfriend.”

Castiel smiled, but did not know what to say to that.

“Thank you,” he finally repeated, unable to manage anything else.

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I’m just glad to have you around. Want to walk with me back to my dorm?”

Castiel agreed, and they set off down the sidewalk. Sam was quiet, and when Castiel glanced over at him, he found that his face had fallen into lines of seriousness.

“Is everything okay, Sam?” he asked, concerned.

Sam seemed to shake himself, his expression lifting slightly.

“Yeah, fine,” he said. “I was just thinking about my friend, Brady. He seems to be going through a rough patch.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel told him, remembering Brady from the few times he had seen him with Sam. “Is there anything that I can do to help?”

“No, I’m sure it’s just normal college stress,” Sam dismissed. Then a thoughtful look took over his face. “But you can tell me why you seemed to recognize Jess when I introduced her to you.”

Castiel smiled. He had forgotten how perceptive Sam could be.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil anything for you,” was all he said, though he did give his friend a wink.

Sam grinned, that sappy look returning to his face. Before long, the two of them reached the dorm building, and Sam turned to give Castiel a farewell hug.

“Thanks for coming, Cas,” he said when he pulled away.

“Anytime, Sam,” Castiel told him earnestly.

The angel gave his young friend one last smile, before making the relatively short flight to his and Dean’s motel room in Hawthorne, Nevada.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked when his partner appeared, glancing up from the book that he was reading on the sofa. “You were gone for a long time.”

“Fine,” Castiel answered, lifting Dean’s legs from one of the couch cushions so that he could sit. “I had lunch with Sam and his new girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Dean repeated with a more interested tone as he rested his feet in the angel’s lap.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel told him with a tolerant smile. “Your brother was capable of finding one.”

“Oh, I never doubted that. He’s got that gooey sensitivity that girls go nuts for,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. But then he looked thoughtful. “Sammy must be serious about her though, if he introduced her to you. She good enough for him?”

Castiel smiled as he thought about Jess, and the way that she and Sam looked at each other.

“Yes,” he said sincerely. “Her name is Jess Moore. She is smart, kind, humorous, beautiful…you would like her, Dean.”

The hunter ignored the subtle hint.

“Well, I’m glad he’s happy,” he said, with a smile that held only a hint of sadness.

“Dean…”

“Don’t start, Cas. I’m not gonna do that to him; I’m not gonna pull him back into this, especially not now that he’s found a girl he really likes.”

“Going to visit him doesn’t mean that he’ll immediately get pulled back into hunting,” Castiel said, frustrated. “All it means is that he won’t feel like you hate him anymore.”

“He doesn’t think I hate him,” Dean said quietly. “I know you wouldn’t let him think that.”

He lifted his book in front of his face and fell silent, effectively ending the conversation. Castiel sighed, but did not press him. He would continue to work on it though. He hated seeing the brothers separated.

ooooooooooooo

Three months later, Castiel’s trip to the past was a bit more stressful than usual.

He landed in an area that was much darker than the park he had just left, so it took his eyes a moment to adjust. When he could see, he looked around, startled to find that he was in what appeared to be an abandoned subway tunnel. He was even more startled when he caught sight of a familiar figure bound to one of the concrete columns that supported the ceiling.

“Dean!” he called softly, hurrying forward.

The teenager lifted his head, and Castiel could feel the strength of his relief through their bond. But then Dean’s gaze focused on something over the angel’s shoulder, and his eyes widened with fear.

“Cas, look out!” he shouted.

Castiel had started turning around the moment Dean’s expression changed, but it was still too slow for him to avoid the astonishingly powerful blow that landed on the back of his head. The angel barely had time to register anything but mild outrage before he dropped to the floor.

Castiel had the uniquely unpleasant experience of being fully conscious in a vessel that was decidedly _un_ conscious. His mind was functioning as it normally did, but Jimmy Novak’s body was not cooperating with it. He supposed that this was what victims of paralysis endured. He knew that he would regain control in time, but time was what they were probably running short on. Human brains processed sound even when asleep, so Castiel was able to hear what was going on around him, and what he heard was not good.

He could hear Dean calling out to him, and when that elicited no response, the young man switched to verbally abusing their captors. There was a dull thud and a grunt of pain that would have had Castiel seeing red, had he been able to see anything at all, and then there was a moment of silence that suggested that Dean had left the realm of the conscious.

“Punk-ass kid,” said a voice that sounded exactly like Dean’s, though given the circumstances, Castiel suspected that it was stolen. “I can’t wait to kill him when this is over.”

“Don’t forget who we have to kill first,” a female voice reminded. “Do you think John is already onto us? If he sent this guy-”

“He didn’t,” not-Dean interrupted, kicking Castiel’s leg. “This is the busted angel that Dean’s obsessed with. He always comes on his own.”

“An _angel_?” the woman repeated, her voice louder and unpleasantly shrill. “Are you insane? We can’t get mixed up with angels!”

“Not angels plural,” the other voice said carelessly. “It’s just the one, and he’s useless. Dean’s seen the guy practically pass out just from landing too hard. Hell, you were able to knock him out with no trouble.”

“But what about when the other angels come for him?”

“They won’t,” not-Dean said calmly.

“How do you know that?”

“Because Dean knows it. Now hurry up and change.”

“What?”

“John knows this guy. It’ll be easier for us to get in if he recognizes both of us.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t,” not-Dean snapped. “Just get on with it. I’ll get his clothes while you’re shifting.”

The woman let out a sigh, but made no further attempt to argue. Castiel heard footsteps approaching, and then felt a cold hand touch his cheek briefly before pulling away. Unsettling tearing and popping sounds began to fill the air, and Castiel suspected that he was hearing a shapeshifter transitioning between forms. He was soon distracted from the noises by hands turning him over roughly and pulling the trench coat from his body, followed by his suit jacket and tie. Then he was propped up against a cold surface, probably a support like the one that Dean had been tied to. His limp arms were yanked behind him and secured in place with what felt like a length of rope.

“I’m ready.”

Had Castiel still been in control of his facial muscles, he would have grimaced at the sound of his voice coming from someone else. Well, he supposed that it was not exactly his voice, but he certainly had a better claim to it than the shapeshifter did. But he did not have control of his facial muscles, or any of his other muscles for that matter, so he could do nothing but listen as the two shifters made their final preparations and then exited the subway tunnel, leaving the two men bound and unconscious.

The angel spent the entire time he was paralyzed cursing the weakness that had overcome him in the last few years. Not all that long ago, a blow to the head would not even have made him blink, and now it incapacitated him for an hour. Of course, not that long ago, Castiel had not known the Winchesters. He supposed that some things were worth falling for.

Dean awoke before the angel’s vessel did. Castiel heard his friend gasp, and felt worry spike through their bond.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice sounded small as it called out, and the angel was reminded of how young he must be. “Cas, are you there? Are you okay?”

Castiel wanted nothing more than to be able to respond, to let him know that he was all right, but his traitorous vessel would not comply. He felt Dean’s fear increase, and the boy’s breathing sped up. Other than that, there was silence for several minutes, until there was a strange thudding sound, then footsteps headed in Castiel’s direction.

“Cas?” Dean asked again, sounding much closer this time.

The angel felt his friend’s hands on his face for a moment, before the comforting warmth vanished. The rope around his wrists loosened and then fell away, and he was lowered gently to the ground.

“Cas?” Dean repeated, his voice growing more panicked with each lack of response. “Oh God, what did they do to you? Cas!”

There was an urgent press of fingers against his throat, and Dean heaved a sigh of relief as he registered Castiel’s steady pulse.

“Come on, Cas,” he said, more calmly this time, tapping the angel’s cheek lightly. “Time to wake up, buddy.”

Finally, _finally_ , Castiel’s body decided it was ready to cooperate. His eyes slid open, and he looked up at the blurry blob hovering over him, smiling slightly as he felt Dean’s relief.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, sitting up slowly.

He blinked Dean’s face into better focus, gauging his friend to be about thirteen or fourteen years old. Too young to be on this kind of hunt.

He winced as his head throbbed, and he raised a hand to the spot where he had been struck. His fingers came away sticky with drying blood.

“What did they hit me with?” he asked hazily.

“A pipe,” Dean said, pointing to the offending object, which lay abandoned on the floor. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Positive,” the angel said, fighting back a grimace of pain as he stood. “We have more pressing matters to deal with.”

“Yeah, like killing those creeps that did this,” Dean said angrily. “That thing stole my face, Cas! He just ripped his skin off, and it was my body underneath. It was the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“It’s worse than that,” Castiel said grimly.

“How?” Dean asked, looking alarmed.

“They impersonated us so that they could go after your father,” the angel told him.

Dean’s mouth fell open in horror.

“Dad doesn’t know about these things!” he said. “He’ll think it’s us!”

“He’s never dealt with shapeshifters before?”

Dean shook his head, and Castiel grimaced. This was not going to be easy.

“Where is your father now?” he asked. “Is Sam with him?”

“Dad was working this case by himself,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I don’t know where he is. Sammy and I were in school. The principal came and pulled me out of class, but…”

“The principal was not actually the principle,” Castiel surmised. Dean shook his head, shuddering at the memory.

“Wait!” the teenager exclaimed, a pulse of fear radiating from him. “Do you think they got to Sammy too?”

Castiel frowned. It was a possibility, but unlikely, given the fact that he and Dean were the only ones in the tunnel, and the other shapeshifter had been in a female form.

“I don’t think so,” he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. “Maybe they didn’t know about him, or he was too small to suit their purposes.”

“Which is to kill my dad?” Dean checked, his voice an octave higher than usual. Of course, that could also have been due to the fact that he did not appear to have gone through puberty yet.

“It seems that way,” the angel replied.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Dean demanded. “Let’s go help him!”

Castiel met his friend’s frightened gaze, a feeling of helplessness rising up within him. He was still drained from his flight through the timestream, and he could barely stand without swaying. On top of that, his trench coat, and the angel blade inside it, was in the hands of the enemy. All of Castiel’s instincts told him to avoid going into battle powerless and unarmed.

Dean’s panic overrode those instincts however.

Then angel held out his arm, and Dean took it, gripping it tightly. Castiel closed his eyes, searching for John’s individual life force in what appeared to be a city of millions. Of the three Winchesters, he was the least familiar with John’s signal, so it took him a moment to track it down. When he finally located it, Castiel was alarmed to realize that it was right next to Sam’s. The youngest Winchester was in the line of fire after all.

Not wanting to waste another moment, Castiel used his exhausted wings to carry them toward the beacon of those souls.

Now came the difficult part of the plan. Castiel had seen that John and Sam were in the foyer of a small house, the two shapeshifters right beside them. Most of the rooms in the house locked from the inside, but there was one closet that had an external lock. It was this cupboard that Castiel made the destination for his flight.

They landed in utter darkness, and Castiel could feel Dean’s confusion.

“Where are we?” the teenager demanded in a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” was all Castiel said in answer.

The angel gently tugged his arm free of Dean’s grip and stretched out his wings once more. He made the short flight out of the locked closet, leaving his friend behind, safe from whatever conflict was about to follow.

He landed beside the other Winchesters just as the shapeshifter impersonating him raised his stolen angel blade, about to plunge it into John’s turned back. Castiel let out a cry of warning, shoving John aside and grabbing his double’s arm.

They struggled for the blade. Castiel’s double had all of his fighting skills and none of his debilitating weakness, which made the struggle extremely challenging. This was not helped along by the fact that Dean’s double was trying equally hard to kill him.

Over the chaos of their fight, Castiel was dimly aware of the shouts and thumping sounds coming from the closet in which he had locked Dean. The part of him that was not focused on surviving the next several minutes wondered if Dean would ever forgive him for this. The part of him that could actually think straight told him to stop being an idiot. Of course Dean would forgive him; he already had.

Castiel managed to hold his own until the sharp report of gunshots rang through the air. He saw holes appear in his double’s chest, but the cold smile on the creature’s face told him that they were not made of silver, and were therefore useless.

The shots did provide a distraction though. Castiel managed to regain control of his sword, and he embedded it in his double’s chest. The magical blade worked where the bullets had failed, and the shapeshifter slumped to the ground.

The remaining shifter let out a cry of rage, and he flung Castiel to the ground. He pulled the angel blade from his fallen comrade’s chest and advanced towards John, who fired two more useless rounds into the creature’s chest. Castiel stood and placed himself in a protective position in front of the hunter, but a calculating look entered the shifter’s eyes, and it changed course abruptly, hurling the silver sword towards the young boy who had been frozen in fear for the duration of the fight.

Castiel reacted on pure instinct the moment he saw his sword leave the shapeshifter’s hand. He dove in front of Sam, not having the time to do anything besides taking the blow that had been meant for his friend. He vaguely registered a splintering crash coming from somewhere behind him, but all he could focus on was the weapon that he had just put himself in the path of.

Agony exploded in the angel’s left shoulder as the blade embedded itself in his flesh. He slumped to the ground with a grunt, doubting that the wound would be fatal, but still incapacitated by the pain. He could see the shapeshifter advancing on him again, and Castiel reached for his sword, not wanting the creature to get its hands on it again.

Before his fingers could reach the handle however, another hand grasped the silver grip and tugged. Though the motion was as gentle as possible, the sharp slide of the metal from his wound tore a cry of pain from Castiel’s lips and his vision tunneled slightly. He could only watch as the real Dean shoved the borrowed blade through his imposter’s heart.

The young hunter did not waste time relishing his victory as the dead shapeshifter fell to the ground beside its companion. Dean simply turned and rushed to Castiel, dropping to his knees beside the angel and pulling aside the white shirt that was quickly becoming stained with crimson.

Castiel could hear John shepherding a terrified Sam out of the room, but all he could focus on was Dean’s voice, speaking to him in a panicked ramble.

“It’s okay, Cas, you’re gonna be fine,” he muttered as he stared at the triangular hole in Castiel’s shoulder, and the angel could tell that he was trying to convince himself as well. “Cas? Talk to me. Tell me you’re gonna be fine.”

Castiel groaned, turning his head to examine his wound as best he could. Blood was seeping out of it sluggishly, and it was also emitting the blue glow of angelic grace. The sight clearly unsettled Dean, because he quickly shrugged out of his t-shirt and pressed it over the injury.

“Cas?” he asked again, and the panic in his voice was enough for Castiel to convince his vocal cords to start working again.

“It’s just…a flesh wound,” he forced out, echoing the words that an adult Dean always said to him when the angel fussed over injuries that his partner had sustained on a hunt.

“This is one hell of a flesh wound,” Dean argued, raising his eyebrows. “It’s _glowing_ , Cas.”

“I’ll be fine,” the angel insisted.

He could already feel the flow of blood slowing. He knew that he would make a full recovery, but wounds made by angelic weapons were always slower to heal than those left by mortal ones.

“Good,” said Dean, his eyes hardening slightly once he was satisfied that the angel was not on the verge of death. “Because I’d hate for you to die before I could kill you myself. How could you do that to me?”

Castiel sighed, not having to ask what Dean was talking about. He had known from the second he had locked his friend in the closet that Dean would be furious with him for it.

“I had no choice,” he grunted. “I knew that your father and brother were in trouble, and I would not put you in danger as well. I needed to know that at least one of you was safe.”

Dean’s expression only grew stormier at his words.

“You had no right-” he began, but was cut off by a gruff voice from behind him.

“He made the right call,” John Winchester said, walking over to crouch beside his son and the fallen angel.

Dean’s gaze dropped. He was not willing to argue with his father, but it was clear that his opinion on Castiel’s actions had not changed. John reached over to place his hand beside Dean’s on the t-shirt that covered Castiel’s wound, applying steady pressure.

“Go,” he ordered his son. Dean was clearly about to protest, so he added, “Sammy needs you.”

That was enough to quiet the young hunter. He sent the angel another glance that was equal parts furious and concerned, but then stood to go offer comfort to his little brother.

Once he was gone, John looked thoughtfully down at Castiel.

“You really gonna be all right?” he checked.

Castiel grimaced but nodded. The pain in his shoulder was already fading, though it was still exceedingly uncomfortable.

“I can probably sit up, if you’re willing to assist me,” he said, disliking talking to John while lying on the floor.

The hunter nodded and put an arm under Castiel’s good shoulder, helping him into a more upright position. The angel was still not ready to move though, so John propped him up against the closest wall.

“Are there any more of those things coming after us?” John asked once Castiel had gotten as settled as he could. The hunter sent an unreadable glance towards the two bodies in the entryway, shuddering almost imperceptibly.

“No, I believe it was just the two of them,” Castiel said with a small shake of his head.

“And what are they, exactly?” John asked, carefully avoiding looking at the bodies again. Castiel supposed it had to be difficult for him, considering one of them looked like his son. For that matter, it was difficult for Castiel as well.

“Shapeshifters,” Castiel said grimly, remembering what Dean had said about his father never encountering the creatures before.

“So they can make themselves look like anyone?” John asked.

“Yes,” Castiel told him, shifting slightly in a fruitless attempt to make himself more comfortable as he explained. “There are many different types of shapeshifters. Some can change their appearance with ease and with no human model, while others, like those two, form a sort of connection with the human that they wish to copy, before shedding their old skin and replacing it with their new one. The connection extends to the mind as well, so they were able to access our basic thoughts and memories, which is how they knew where to find you.”

John looked slightly nauseated at the image of the shifting process, but he did not dwell on it.

“And you need special weapons like yours to kill them?” he asked.

“Not so special,” the angel corrected. “Anything made of silver will work on them, and a blow through the heart is best.”

John nodded, taking the information in. Then his expression shifted from curious and slightly overwhelmed to angry.

“You want to tell me how they managed to get to Dean, and then to me and Sammy while you were supposed to be looking out for my sons?” he demanded.

Castiel winced at the accusation.

“You know that I am not constantly hovering around your children,” he said a bit testily. “I don’t think any of us want that. I come and go, and this time when I came, I was too late to stop Dean from being captured. The shapeshifters took me by surprise, and then took my shape. But I came here as soon as I could, and I took care of what would have otherwise killed your entire family.”

“What’s the point of having you around if you can’t stop things like this?” John inquired, and Castiel felt his already short patience slipping.

“Did you know that Sam was deathly ill a few years ago?” the angel asked accusingly. John blinked, startled by the unexpected topic.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he barked.

“It was before I even saved you from that demon,” Castiel told him, not bothering to disguise the anger in his voice. “You had left your children alone with nothing but a shotgun for defense, and Sam got sick with a kidney infection. His fever was so high that he was completely incoherent and Dean had to resort to putting him in a bathtub full of ice, but he wouldn’t seek medical attention because you had drilled it into his head that hospitals are the enemy. Sam would have died had I not been there, and you were not even reachable to your sons when they needed you. I do not think that you are in a position to be passing judgments on me.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I don’t care about my children?” John hissed, after a long moment of surprised silence. “I would die for them.”

“So would I,” Castiel retorted, the slowly closing hole in his shoulder evidence of that. “But that isn’t enough. They don’t need you to die for them, they need you to be there for them.”

Fury flared in John’s eyes, and Castiel wondered idly if the hunter was going to strike him. But then the man’s gaze dropped to the bloody t-shirt that was pressed to the angel’s shoulder, and the fight seemed to drain out of him with a sigh.

“I was really trying to do it right this time,” he said quietly. “We’ve been in this house for almost a month, longer than we usually stay in one place. I’ve got the boys enrolled in school, and I wouldn’t let Dean help with the case, even though he wanted to. I thought it would keep him safe, keep them both safe.”

Castiel let out a sigh of his own, letting his head fall back to rest against the wall, suddenly too tired to support it.

“Monsters do not respect the sacred human laws that protect children from their parents’ battles,” he said regretfully. “With the life that you have chosen, Sam and Dean will never truly be safe from your war. If I thought I had any hope of changing your mind about your choice of profession, I would do whatever it took to convince you, but because I know that nothing I could say will ever be enough to counter the passion and grief that drive you, I will just tell you this: make sure that your boys are ready for the challenges that may arise, but give them the choice about joining you in your mission.”

A long silence followed his brief speech, and Castiel took the time to probe his connection with Dean, trying to gauge how his friend was doing. The angel could feel a tumultuous mixture of fear and anger and relief swirling through Dean, and suspected that he would have a hard time shaking off this incident.

“You really care about them, don’t you?” John asked eventually, his voice unreadable. “Locking Dean in a closet to keep him safe from the fighting or jumping in front of Sammy, those could have just been part of your job, whatever system you guardian angels have. But a lecture on parenting? That’s what gives you away.”

“I’m not sure what impressions you have of angels, but I doubt they are correct,” Castiel said with a weary smile. “If you think that I was tasked with watching over Sam and Dean, you are mistaken. I do what I do for them because they are like family to me.”

He glanced over at John to see what he made of the announcement.

“And you still don’t like that, do you?” he asked the hunter dryly, taking note of his expression.

“If I didn’t know that you met and became friends with them when they were both adults, you and I would have some serious issues,” John said. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “But…the boys have so little family left. I’m not sure I have it in me to deny them someone who obviously cares so much. And having seen what you’ll do for them, I have to say that it makes me feel better knowing that someone else is looking after them, someone with pull in high places.”

Castiel had to let out a bitter laugh at that.

“Well, you’re correct in everything except the part about me having an influence in heavenly circles,” he admitted. “I’m what you might call an outcast from the other angels.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah?” he asked. “What’d you do?”

“Tried to stop my brothers from starting the apocalypse.”

John blinked at him, but could obviously tell that Castiel had no intention of elaborating on his cryptic answer.

“Okay…” he said, drawing out the word. “Well, can I help you with anything? That wound looked pretty nasty.”

Castiel removed the stained t-shirt from his shoulder to show John how much the injury had already healed. While he had by no means made a full recovery, the wound had stopped bleeding and had completely scabbed over. The hunter whistled, impressed.

“I wish I could heal that fast,” he said appreciatively.

“I used to heal much faster,” Castiel told him bitterly.

The two of them sat in silence again. Castiel did not ask to see the boys and John did not offer, but the angel suspected that he had taken significant steps in earning the hunter’s trust. Eventually, John glanced at the motionless bodies of the dead shifters, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help in that fight,” he said, and Castiel could not help being stunned. John Winchester did not seem like the type to make apologies.

“There was not much you could have done,” he said gracefully. “You would have needed a silver weapon.”

“Maybe, but I’m pretty good with hand-to-hand combat. I could have taken some of the pressure off you, given you time to kill those things without having to get stabbed with your own sword.”

“So why didn’t you step in sooner?” Castiel asked curiously. John stared at him.

“Because one of them looked like my son,” he said, as if that should have been obvious.

Castiel supposed that it was obvious, really. He would never have been fooled by the impostors, but not everyone had the ability to discern individual souls, to be able to recognize someone by more than just his face.

“I didn’t even know that they weren’t you and Dean until you appeared out of thin air and I heard Dean shouting from the closet,” John went on. “And when I realized that there were two sets of you, I just couldn’t be sure which were the real ones, not with everything happening so fast.”

“What made you decide to fire?” Castiel inquired, remembering the sharp report of useless gunshots during the struggle.

“It was the look in that thing’s eyes,” John said, his gaze distant. “I barely know you, Castiel, but I knew you would never look that bloodthirsty. Besides, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that you, the real you, were trying to protect me and Sam.”

“But even then, you shot at fake me, not fake Dean,” Castiel said probingly. John offered him an unapologetic grin.

“Well, I wasn’t 100% sure, and there was no way I was testing the theory out on my kid.”

The angel had to smile at that. He was glad for whatever protective paternal instincts John possessed, even if they meant that he would choose his sons over Castiel. Especially if they meant that he would choose his sons over Castiel.

Neither of them felt the need to say anything more, and Castiel was content to rest in place as his shoulder continued to get less and less excruciating. Sam and Dean remained sequestered in another room, but John stayed with the angel until he was finally able to stand, albeit a bit unsteadily. The two of them walked over to the shapeshifters, whose bodies sported matching triangular holes in their chests.

“Silver, huh?” John broke the silence, looking down at the still form of Castiel’s impostor.

“It’ll work on them like regular weapons work on humans,” Castiel confirmed. “I assume you have silver bullets?” John nodded. “Then you’ll be fine, should you ever encounter them again.”

John nodded again, and Castiel offered to help him dispose of the bodies. It was surprisingly difficult for him to burn the corpse of Dean’s lookalike, even though he knew it was just an impostor. There was something extremely unsettling about watching the flames of a hastily constructed pyre turn that familiar body to ash.

Castiel could tell that John did not enjoy the experience either, but he made almost no comment during their task. It was only when the angel was preparing to leave that he spoke again.

“I guess I should be thanking you for this,” he said as Castiel shrugged into the trench coat that he had reclaimed from the body of his doppelganger. “But I guess I’m still not used to the idea of…you.”

“I understand,” Castiel offered, though he really could not empathize much with John’s position, as he had never been in a similar one.

John shook his head with a tired sigh, but he extended his hand towards Castiel. The angel shook it, appreciating the gesture, however reluctantly it was presented.

“I take it I’ll see you again?” the hunter said, and Castiel smiled at the resignation in his tone.

“I’m afraid you can count on it,” he replied.

“Then take care, Castiel,” John said with the barest hint of his own smile.

“You do the same,” the angel told him.

Then he made the rough trip back to his adult version of Dean. The wound had sapped his strength tremendously, making it difficult for him to control his flight. He probably should have stayed for longer than he did, but he did not want to give John more reasons to dislike him, and he knew that Dean had still been upset with him and would need time to work through it.

Despite the exhaustion, Castiel was eventually confident that he was in the right part of Dean’s timeline, and let himself tumble gratefully back to reality. He looked around, finding that he was standing in one of the nicer motel rooms that he had seen. His partner was sitting on the couch and flipping through channels on the small TV in front of him, but he turned the device off as soon as he caught sight of the angel.

Dean let his gaze sweep up and down Castiel’s body, eyes pausing on the bloodstained hole in his shirt and the grime and ash streaking his face.

“Shapeshifter incident?” he asked sympathetically.

“Shapeshifter incident,” Castiel confirmed with a groan, dropping onto the couch beside Dean. “You could have warned me.”

“And risk screwing up the space-time continuum?” Dean asked with mock horror. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Or you felt the need to get payback for all of the times I left you in the dark,” Castiel grumbled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean said innocently.

Castiel glowered at him, and he shrugged, dropping the act. His face grew serious and his eyes unfocused as he thought back to the day that was so far in his past.

“Believe me, I wish I could have changed things,” he said quietly, looping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders to pull him closer, but being careful of his injury. “When I saw you get hit in that subway tunnel, and then woke up to find you unconscious and bleeding…I was scared, Cas. I was _damn_ scared. I had seen you hurt before, but never unconscious, never so bad that you didn’t respond to me. For a second, I was afraid that you were dead. I don’t think I’d ever been that scared in my life, except maybe for the night my mom…Because every other time I got scared, I told myself that my guardian angel was watching out for me and would protect me.”

“It was not a pleasant experience for me either,” Castiel informed him. “I was aware of everything, but powerless to move, to help you, to ease the fear I could feel in you.”

“I didn’t know that,” Dean said, looking subdued and thoughtful. “I guess I should’ve figured it out, but with what happened after…”

“I assume you’re referring to me locking you in your own cupboard?” Castiel asked, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I was mad at your for weeks after that, you know,” Dean said, his tone a bit lighter.

“Oh, I know,” Castiel said with a roll of his eyes as he thought back to one of his earlier trips into the past. “I remember being very confused about why you were giving me such a cold elbow.”

“Shoulder, Cas. I was giving you the cold shoulder.”

“Yes, that was equally frosty,” said Castiel. “I had no idea what I’d done, and you were too contrary to tell me, so we spent my entire two hour rest period in complete silence while you pretended to read.”

“I wasn’t pretending to read!” Dean protested.

“Really?” the angel teased “Because you didn’t turn a single page in the entire time I was there.”

“You were a little distracting.”

“I was just sitting there.”

“Yeah. And?”

Castiel smiled and rolled his eyes again. Dean grinned back at him, eyes bright, but then his gaze flickered back down to the angel’s bloody shoulder, and he frowned.

“Are you all right, Cas?” he asked. “I just realized that I didn’t see you after you got hurt because I was with Sam. My dad said that you were fine, but he measures injuries differently than normal mortals.”

“It’ll be uncomfortable for a few days,” Castiel said with a sigh, the throbbing ache in his shoulder intensifying at the reminder. “But I’ll make a full recovery.”

Dean nodded, eyes shadowed.

“Sammy had nightmares for a long time after that,” he said after a moment. “He’d seen monsters before, of course, but those two looked like his family, and it freaked him out.”

“Was he the only one who had nightmares?” Castiel asked softly, studying his partner’s distant expression. Dean let out a sigh.

“No,” the hunter admitted. “Again and again, I kept seeing you get hit with that pipe, or stabbed with your sword, and there was never anything I could do to stop it, just like there was nothing I could do to stop it when it happened for real. Except in my nightmares, you…”

Dean trailed off, but Castiel understood what had been left unsaid. He knew what it felt like to be haunted by the death of loved ones, real or imagined. His good hand found Dean’s and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Dean let out a grateful sigh and leaned his head against the angel’s good shoulder. They sat like that for a long moment, simply enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence.

“It was also the first time I had seen you without that trench coat,” Dean added lightly. “That alone was enough to freak me out.”

Castiel chuckled. Now that he lived with Dean permanently, he sometimes opted to don more casual human clothes, but he always wore his usual suit and trench coat when he visited the past.

“I am sorry though, Cas,” Dean said more seriously. “I probably should have warned you. It’s just that I knew things more or less worked out the way they happened. Believe me, I wish I could have spared all of us that ordeal, but you’re the one who’s always telling me how dangerous it is to meddle with time, and I didn’t want to put you, or any of us, at risk.”

Castiel sighed, knowing that Dean was right.

“I understand,” he forgave easily. “But I expect you to make this up to me.”

Dean grinned suggestively.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“An ice pack would be nice,” the angel said, smiling slightly to himself when Dean’s face fell into a pout. The hunter let out a long-suffering sigh as he got up from the couch.

“Coming right up.”

Dean walked over to one of the duffels that was sitting on the bed closest to the door, pulling out an instant ice pack and breaking it so that the chemicals would mix. He wrapped it in a hand towel from the bathroom before tossing it to Castiel and sitting back down beside him as the angel pressed the pack to his tender shoulder. Dean studied his partner, looking thoughtful.

“What is it?” Castiel inquired, suspecting that there was something besides this injury on his mind.

“Do you ever think about how you always seem to turn up when we need you the most?” Dean asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Sam was dying of an infection; you showed up and saved him. A demon was about to kill all of us; you showed up and killed it. I was in the hospital as a baby; you showed up and healed me. Shapeshifters tried to take out my entire family; you showed up in time to help us. Doesn’t that seem like a pattern?”

“I show up plenty of times when I’m not needed as well,” Castiel said, though part of him agreed with Dean.

“Yeah, but still, it seems like too much to be a coincidence,” Dean insisted.

“You’re right,” Castiel concurred thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’m drawn to those points in your timeline subconsciously, because I know you need my help.”

“Maybe,” Dean said quietly. “Well, whatever it is, I’m not complaining.”


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel sometimes forgot that there were other hunters besides the Winchesters, so it was somewhat jarring when he and Dean walked into a bar in the town they were working in and three men stood to greet them. Apparently they were friends with John, and had gotten to know Dean over the years. They were all fairly accepting of his relationship with Castiel, but they still made the angel uncomfortable. None of them knew what he was, and he did not think that they would be so affable if they found out. Besides, while his people skills had improved with his exposure to humanity, he was still clumsy with social interaction. So when the hunters asked to catch up with Dean over drinks, Castiel elected to return to the motel.

He had just settled down on the bed with a book when he heard a faint but familiar voice over what Dean had dubbed his ‘angel radio’. He frowned, focusing until he could make out Sam’s words.

… _should call Dean instead. No, he’d be as bad as Cas with this, and he probably wouldn’t even pick up the phone anyway. But who else is there? How do I not know any married women?_

Castiel raised an eyebrow, wishing that he had caught the beginning of that internal monologue. Sam seemed to be wrestling with some kind of conundrum, and while he had not specifically asked for the angel’s help, he must have been thinking about him enough for Castiel to pick it up.

The angel hesitated, wondering if he should go. Sam had not requested his assistance, but he was clearly in need of some guidance. Castiel glanced around. Dean would be gone for another few hours, and it was not as if he had anything better to do in the meantime.

Castiel concentrated, making himself invisible before flying to Sam’s side. He landed in a brightly lit store, where Sam was peering into a glass case. The angel waited until there were no human eyes on him, and then returned to visibility.

“Is everything all right, Sam?” he asked.

His friend jumped, whirling around to face him.

“Holy crap, Cas,” Sam said, shaking himself slightly. “Give me a little warning next time.”

Castiel frowned, not sure of what constituted a proper warning. He supposed that he could call ahead with the cell phone that Dean had bought for him, but that seemed silly, as he could travel faster than cellular waves. Sam sighed at his friend’s consternation.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“You were thinking about me,” Castiel offered by way of an explanation. “I thought you might need help.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Sam, looking a bit uncomfortable. “It was kind of silly, I guess. I mean, you wouldn’t really know anything about buying the right ring, but I don’t really know anyone else I can ask for advice, so…”

“The right ring for what?” Castiel asked.

“For proposing,” Sam said, his face flushing. “To Jess.”

“Oh,” said Castiel, taken aback. Sam frowned.

“You think it’s a bad idea,” he said.

“No, not at all,” Castiel assured him. “I just wasn’t expecting it. But I’ve seen how happy you are with Jessica. She is smart and kind and beautiful, and she seems like a suitable fit for you. I see no reason why you should not ask for her hand.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked, his face lighting up hopefully.

“Of course. But you were right in assuming that I am not the correct person to advise you on choosing a ring for your beloved.”

“Oh, right. That’s fine, Cas. It was just nice of you to show up.”

“I’ll always show up when you need me, Sam,” Castiel said earnestly. “Even if it is for seemingly trivial things.”

Sam gave Castiel a slightly shaky smile, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“Thanks for that,” he said, a deep sincerity behind his words. Then he blinked quickly, seeming to switch gears as he looked around the store. “Do you want to stay with me while I look anyway?”

“I’d be happy to,” Castiel told him.

The two of them spent the next half an hour going through the store’s extensive selection of engagement rings. Sam seemed a bit overwhelmed by all of the choices, but stayed firm in his decision to propose.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Sam asked, as one of the clerks put away the latest ring that they had been looking at.

“About what, rings?”

“Getting married,” Sam elaborated. “I mean, you and Dean have been together for years, and you’ve always been right for each other. Why not get married?”

Castiel blinked, somewhat blindsided by the question.

“Uh, no, I guess I haven’t thought about it that much,” he admitted. “Dean hasn’t brought it up, and it never really occurred to me. Marriage is such a human ritual that I hadn’t really considered it.”

“Would you say yes if he asked?” Sam inquired curiously.

Castiel thought about it. He had committed his life to Dean in every other way, so why would marriage be any different?

“If he asked, yes, I would agree,” he said eventually. “But I doubt he will. Dean doesn’t seem like the type to put such labels on relationships, especially one like ours.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Sam said with a thoughtful expression. “But I wouldn’t bet on it. Dean loves you, Cas, in a big way, and he can get pretty possessive. He might want a piece of paper that says you belong to him.”

“I think I’d like that,” Castiel said, lips twitching into an unconscious smile as he considered the idea.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he gave his friend an indulgent smile.

“And my friends say that Jess and I are sappy,” he teased.

“I had to wait a very long time to get what I have with your brother,” Castiel told him. “And I’m going to enjoy every moment of it now that it’s mine.”

“I’m really glad the two of you are happy, Cas,” Sam said, his tone a bit more serious.

“Likewise. You deserve this, Sam,” Castiel said firmly, gesturing around at the jewelry store and what it represented.

“Thanks,” Sam said, and Castiel could see the excitement lighting up his eyes. Then he looked around the display cases and sighed. “I don’t think any of these rings are right though. I’ll try a different store some other time.”

“All right. You know what to do if you want company for that.”

Sam nodded and pulled the angel into a tight hug. He let go fairly quickly, but Castiel could still feel his affection and gratitude.

“Thanks for being here, Cas,” he said as they walked out of the store and into the bright sunshine of a busy Palo Alto street.

“Anytime,” Castiel told his friend. “But promise me something, Sam.”

“What’s that?”

“Invite your brother to the wedding.

Sam swallowed, looking down.

“Yeah, I – of course I will, Cas,” he said after a moment. “But do you think he’ll even come?”

“Of course,” said Castiel, taken aback. “Sam, if you picked up the phone and called him right now, he would come. The only reason he has stayed away from you this long is that he thought you wouldn’t want to see him.”

Sam sighed, not looking at the angel.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see him,” he said quietly. “I miss him like crazy. It’s just that he’s so…he’s such a _hunter_ , and that’s what I’ve been trying to get away from.”

“I know,” Castiel said, resting a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder until the young man finally met his eyes. “And he understands that. But when you’re ready, you’ll figure out a way to make it work.”

“You really believe that?” Sam asked hopefully.

“I do,” Castiel assured him. “The bond that exists between you could surmount far more than this.”

Sam smiled gratefully at him, and the two of them set off down the street. Castiel walked his friend back to his apartment and bade him a fond farewell before flying back to Dean. The angel said nothing about the impending engagement, knowing that Sam would tell his brother when he was ready.

ooooooooooooo

Castiel stared out of the impala’s window in contentment, enjoying the feeling of having successfully completed a case. He and Dean were in rural Maryland, having just eradicated a poltergeist that was terrorizing a family. It was September, and though Castiel had experienced fall many times before, he never grew tired of the season, especially when the leaves started to change color, as they were now. Dean called him made fun of him when he brought it up, but the teasing did not diminish his enjoyment of the season.

The peaceful silence in the car was interrupted by a shrill ringing sound. Castiel looked around in confusion for the source of the noise, before remembering that it was his cell phone. Dean had made him get it when they started travelling together, but he rarely used it. Only the three Winchesters had the number. Sam usually just prayed when he needed the angel, and Dean was sitting next to him, so there was only one person it could be.

“Hello?” Castiel answered curiously. John had known this number for years, but it was the first time he had used it.

“Castiel,” the hunter greeted, confirming his suspicion. “I need to talk to you.”

“You are talking to me.”

A frustrated sigh crackled over the line.

“In person, Castiel,” John said impatiently. “I need to talk to you in person. And alone.”

Castiel glanced over at Dean, who was watching him interestedly. He doubted that his partner would be thrilled about him going off on his own with John, but he knew that the older hunter would not have made the request if it were not urgent.

“All right,” he agreed.

“Good. I’m in-”

“I can locate you on my own,” Castiel interrupted. “I’ll be with you momentarily.”

He snapped the phone shut, then met Dean’s inquiring gaze.

“What was that about?” the hunter asked.

“Your father would like to speak with me privately,” Castiel stated, still perplexed by the idea.

“Why?” Dean asked, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

“He didn’t say,” Castiel answered, unbuckling his seat belt so that he would not get tangled in it when he returned. He had only made that mistake once. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Wait, you’re just going?” Dean asked before the angel could leave.

“Uh, yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

Dean was silent for a long moment, his obedience towards his father warring with his protectiveness of Castiel. Eventually he sighed.

“No, I guess not,” he said reluctantly. “See you later, Cas. Be careful.”

The angel nodded and took off, aiming for the signal of John’s soul, which he had become more familiar with in the recent years. He landed next to John, who was leaning against his large black truck with his arms crossed. The hunter did not acknowledge Castiel’s presence immediately, his attention focused on something over the angel’s shoulder.

Castiel turned, following his gaze to a large school building. It was not one that he had seen before, but the sign in front of it proclaimed it to be the Windom Area High School. The name seemed oddly familiar, but Castiel could not place its relevance.

“What is it you wished to speak to me about?” he asked, leaning beside John and watching as the doors of the building opened, spilling teenagers out onto the sidewalk.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this at all,” John said, still not looking at the angel. “But I need to know that someone is looking out for him if I’m not around.”

Castiel was about to ask who exactly it was that he was supposed to be looking out for, when the name of the school and John’s concern finally made the pieces fit together in his head.

“Your son,” he stated. “Adam.”

“You know about him?” John demanded, finally turning to look at Castiel, who nodded. “For how long?”

“As long as you’ve known me,” Castiel told him.

He scanned the crowd of students, looking for one that seemed familiar. While he had never met Adam, he imagined that he would bear some resemblance to Sam and Dean.

“How?” John asked urgently. “How did you find out about him? No one was supposed to know about him. Hell, I’ve only known about him for a few years.”

Castiel glanced at him, trying to decide how much to tell him. He supposed that John deserved to know, given the fact that he was trying to do right by his son this time.

“Sam and Dean met him in 2009,” he explained. “Well, they didn’t exactly meet him, but they found out about him, and they told me.”

“How did the boys find him?”

“Why does that idea horrify you so much?” Castiel asked impatiently, deciding to avoid the unsettling answer to the question. “They’re his brothers; surely they deserve the chance to get to know him.”

“You’re the one who’s always telling me how much I screwed up my kids’ lives by raising them to be hunters,” John said, anger coloring his voice. Castiel winced.

“I don’t think that’s how I-”

“No, you’re right,” John interrupted. “And I think the fact that I haven’t spoken to Sam in almost four years is proof of that. But I’ve got another shot here, the chance to do better. Adam will never have to know about the supernatural, and that’s the way it should be. Knowing Sam and Dean would just put him in danger.”

“I’m not sure that going from one extreme to the other is the best way to go about this,” Castiel said dubiously. “Adam can know his brothers without being forced into a life of constant danger.”

“I didn’t bring you here to discuss my parenting choices,” John snapped, and Castiel could tell that this had never really been a conversation. John was too stubborn for that.

“You want me to watch over Adam,” the angel surmised.

“Not the way you do for Sam and Dean. I don’t want him to know about you, I just want you to check in on him every once in a while to make sure that everything’s okay.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing here?” Castiel asked, nodding toward the thinning crowd of students.

“You told me once that I would find the thing that killed Mary,” John said, surprising the angel with the change of topics.

“I remember,” he said cautiously, not sure where this was going.

“Well, I think I’m getting closer to that, and the hunt might take me off the grid for a while.”

Castiel’s stomach dropped, and he studied the hunter carefully. Could this be when he had pulled his disappearing act, the one that had finally sent Dean off to Stanford to enlist Sam’s help in finding him? If so, it was a critical turning point in the Winchesters’ story, one that Castiel had hoped to alter with his presence.

“What makes you say that?” he asked carefully.

“Patterns I’ve been tracing, omens…” John’s expression became distant. “I can feel it, Castiel. I can feel that I’m getting close. Of course, I could have gotten this over with years ago, if you’d just told me what I’m up against.”

“Like I’ve told you-” Castiel began impatiently, but John cut him off.

“I know, I know; fate and destiny and whatnot wouldn’t let you,” he dismissed. “It doesn’t matter anymore, because I’m getting there on my own. That’s not what you’re here for. I want to know if I can count on you to protect my kid.”

He nodded toward the school, and Castiel finally got his first glimpse of Adam Milligan. The boy was not with the main mass of students who were milling around out front waiting to be picked up, or the other cluster that had broken off to walk to the student parking lot. Instead, he was walking down the sidewalk alone, away from the school.

Castiel had been right to suspect that he would bear resemblance to his brothers. The boy looked very much like Dean had at that age, and something about the way he carried himself reminded the angel of Sam.

“Where is he going?” Castiel asked.

“Home,” John said simply. “His mom works long hours at the hospital and can’t pick him up every day, so he walks.”

“Why don’t you give him a ride?” Castiel asked, glancing back at the truck that they were leaning on.

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“He has met you though, right?”

“Yeah, but I usually only come for his birthdays, or other special occasions,” John said, and there was more than a hint of something like sadness or regret in his tone. “It’s best for him if I’m not in his life much.”

“Do you really think so?” Castiel asked, hoping that his tone made it clear what _he_ thought about that. Apparently it did, because John glowered at him.

“I’m trying to do it right this time,” he growled, making it clear that he would not change his mind about this. “Now will you keep an eye on my son, or not?”

Castiel sighed, turning back to look at Adam Milligan’s retreating figure. The boy was an innocent, and he did not deserve the fate that would befall him in a few short years if the angel did nothing. Besides, he knew how much family meant to Sam and Dean, and how heavily Adam’s death had weighed on them in their original timeline.

“Of course I will,” he said heavily. “But will you at least consider telling him about his brothers? It seems unfair to deprive him of his family.”

“It would be even more unfair to deprive him of his life,” John said shortly.

Castiel bit back another sigh of frustration, knowing that it was useless to argue with a Winchester once he had made up his mind.

“Was there anything else you needed?” he asked instead.

“No, that was it,” John said dismissively. “Goodbye, Castiel.”

Castiel did not bother to return the farewell before taking flight. When he reappeared beside Dean, he found that they were stopped at a gas station. Dean glanced up from squeegeeing the windshield and raised his eyebrows at the angel.

“What did he want?” he asked.

“He, uh, wanted me to keep an eye on something,” Castiel hedged.

“Okay, what was it?”

“Nothing.”

Castiel grimaced as Dean’s expression turned incredulous. The angel was terrible at lying to Dean, and they both knew it.

“Nothing,” Dean repeated flatly.

“He asked me not to tell you,” Castiel said helplessly. “It was very important to him.”

“You don’t even like my dad, and you’re gonna keep a secret for him?” Dean asked, not bothering to disguise the mild hurt in his voice.

“I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t important, and not just to your father,” Castiel told him, his tone begging for understanding. “Believe me, I don’t like keeping things from you, but I think this is for the best.”

He actually had no idea if it was for the best, but this way he could at least control the variables. He knew what happened to Adam when Sam and Dean did not know about him, so Castiel could save him from the ghouls. If he altered the timeline too soon, all three of them could get hurt in ways that he had no way of foreseeing.

Dean stared searchingly at the angel for a long moment. Castiel was not sure what he saw in him, but apparently it was enough to convince him not to press further. He clearly did not like the situation though.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Glad we’re back to keeping secrets from each other. I missed that.”

“Dean…” Castiel sighed, angry with John for putting him in this position.

“I said it was fine, Cas,” Dean barked.

“Yes, you did, and everything about you is telling me otherwise,” Castiel said impatiently. “Dean, it’s not because your father trusts me more than you, it’s because he knows how much you care, and he thought that I could be more objective.”

Dean sighed. He wiped the last of the cleaning solution from his windshield and dropped the squeegee back in its bucket, before turning to face Castiel again. He crossed his arms, staring at the angel, and eventually the anger started to drain out of him.

“Is it something that involves Sam?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

“Is it something I need to worry about?”

“No.”

“All right,” Dean said after another beat of silence. “Then I trust you and Dad.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said sincerely, though he could hear the reluctant resignation in his partner’s tone.

“Yeah,” said Dean, his tone heavy. “Just promise me that if it ever does become something I need to worry about, you’ll tell me.”

“Deal,” Castiel said with a grateful smile.

Dean relaxed and grinned as well, then leaned forward to kiss the angel’s cheek.

“Come on,” he said more cheerfully, nodding his head towards the impala. “I figure we’ve got a mile or so of good visibility before these damn kamikaze bugs muck up the windshield again.”

“You know, I could probably take care of that,” Castiel told him, knowing that it would be a waste of his energy but wanting Dean to stay in a good mood. He was rewarded with a blinding smile and a kiss on the lips this time.

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

ooooooooooooo

Castiel did not make his usual trip into the timestream that month, wanting to make sure that the events that had led to Jessica’s death and Sam’s return to hunting never took place. He kept almost constant tabs on John and made Dean call him at least once a week to ensure that he was not ‘off the grid’, as he had put it. Eventually, Dean began to notice the angel’s tension. When more than a month had passed, the hunter finally said something.

“Isn’t there somewhere you should be going?” he hinted.

Castiel gave him a look. They were both sitting at the table in their motel room, and the angel had been trying to look up possibilities for a new case.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said calmly, and Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“You told me there was nothing to worry about,” the hunter said suspiciously.

“There isn’t.”

“Then why are you worried?”

Castiel sighed, giving Dean a helpless look. All he got in return was a smug smile.

“That’s what I thought,” said Dean. “Now either you tell me what’s got you acting so squirrelly, or you go make past-me’s day.”

Castiel grimaced, knowing that Dean wasn’t going to let him out of this easily. He glanced at the ratty calendar that one of the previous patrons had left on the wall. It was only the first of October. Jessica had died on November 2nd in his old timeline. That left him plenty of time to make his trip and return before anything could happen. Not that anything would happen.

“Well, I guess past-you is about to get his day made,” he said resignedly.

“You don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Dean said, and though his words were teasing, his tone was concerned.

Castiel gave him an attempt at a reassuring smile, placing a hand on the side of his partner’s neck.

“I am excited,” he said. “Just…promise me that you’ll be careful while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, of course, Cas,” Dean said, not trying to make another joke this time as he registered the continued seriousness of the angel’s mood. Worry flashed across his features, and he leaned forward to give Castiel a soft kiss. “You know I love you, right?”

Castiel’s smile was more genuine this time.

“Of course,” he said. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Good,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “Then I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Right. See you.”

Castiel stretched out his wings, somewhat sore from disuse. He paused just before taking off, and met his partner’s gaze.

“Dean?” he said quietly. “I love you too.”

He took a moment to watch the smile stretch across Dean’s face, before finally throwing himself back into the timestream. He tried harder than ever to aim for the future, for the timeline in which he had originated, just wanting to finish this so that he could settle down permanently. He had gotten a better sense of the timestream over the years, improved at navigating it. He strained against its bounds, trying to bend them, if not break them.

Something felt different, and for a moment, he felt as though he might be getting close to finding his way back. He pushed harder, his wings aching as they tried to carry him across realities. Then suddenly the angel was flung back into his current timestream, sending him tumbling without direction. He flailed, giving up on a certain destination and simply trying to find his way out of the powerful torrent that was trying to beat his essence to dust as his dangerously low stores of energy were depleted further.

Eventually he managed to haul himself out of the buffeting current, slipping abruptly back into the physical plane. He was utterly exhausted and his legs buckled beneath him as he landed. He was pleased when his descent to the floor was stopped by a chair that was pushed beneath him.

“Easy there, Cas,” said a gentle and familiar voice.

“Mary,” Castiel said warmly, smiling up at the blonde woman.

They were in a neat kitchen, in what Castiel assumed was the Winchesters’ residence in Lawrence. The sky was dark outside the windows, and a light dusting of flour covered most of the flat surfaces. Mary also had flecks of the white powder on her clothes. That was all of the detail Castiel had time to take in, before the unpleasant coppery taste of blood bubbled up in his throat.

Castiel coughed into his sleeve, grimacing as flecks of red stained the tan fabric. It had been years since a journey through time had made him cough up blood like this, and he did not like the implications of it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Mary asked, her hand on Castiel’s shoulder as he swayed in the chair.

“I’m fine,” the angel assured her automatically. “I think I just overexerted myself.”

He hoped that was all this was. Disappointment and hope warred within him as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He really thought that he had been close to making it out, to getting back to the timeline that so desperately needed him, and it was frustrating to have been set back like this. On the other hand, it meant that he still had a chance. Now that he knew what he was doing, he might be more successful next time.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mary checked after a few moments when the angel did not say anything else.

Castiel nodded. He thought about smiling, but he could still taste the blood coating his mouth, and he did not think that the sight of it would reassure the young woman.

“I had no idea time travel was this hard on you,” Mary said with a frown as she wiped a smear of blood from the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “Does this happen to you a lot?”

“Far less frequently now,” the angel told her. “And your sons take good care of me when it does.”

That brought a proud smile to Mary’s face.

“Yeah, I can already tell that Dean is a caretaker,” she said warmly. “He’s such a sweetheart, and he’s great with Sammy.”

“How old are the boys?” Castiel asked. It was really his way of asking how long Mary had left.

“Dean is four, and Sammy is almost six months,” Mary answered. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Castiel realized that his face must have been showing some of the pain that he was feeling. Mary, this wonderfully vital and caring young woman, had only weeks, if not days, left to live. He tried to smooth his face into a calm mask.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Mary did not deserve to spend her last days in fear of what was coming. He cast around for a topic of conversation that would distract her. His eyes settled again on the flour all over the room and the dishes that littered the counter. “It’s a bit late to be baking, isn’t it?”

Mary’s eyes lingered on the angel’s face for a few more moments before she seemed to decide that she would get no more information from him. Her face relaxed into a smile as she began to dust the flour from her clothes.

“I suppose so,” she answered. “But Sammy has been a pretty finicky sleeper lately. He wakes up about every twenty minutes until around midnight, and needs someone to hold him until he falls back to sleep. I figured that if I was going to stay up anyway, I might as well do some baking.”

“Couldn’t you and John take turns with Sam?” asked Castiel. “It would allow you to get more rest.”

Mary’s face hardened slightly and she glanced away.

“John isn’t living at home right now,” she said.

“You two are separated?” Castiel was surprised. John had clearly cared very deeply for his wife. “What happened?”

Mary looked back at him, and the angel realized that perhaps that had been too personal a question. But then Mary sighed, and she sank into the chair next to Castiel’s.

“I’m not exactly sure,” she said, her gaze drifting to the dark window. “I just kept getting the feeling that he didn’t really want to be with us, didn’t want to be a part of our family, and when I called him out on it…He got so angry. He said that he had given everything for this family, and but that if I didn’t want him around, he wasn’t going to impose. He just stormed out, and he didn’t come home.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel told her.

“Thanks.”

“And, for whatever it’s worth, I believe that John loves you very much,” Castiel said softly, not doubting his words. Whatever else he may have felt about John Winchester, he knew that the man had been dedicated to his wife. The insatiable grief and desire for revenge that her death caused was evidence of that. “You mean a great deal to him.”

Mary smiled softly.

“I hope you’re right,” she said. “He means a great deal to me too.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before a noise began to emit from the other room. Castiel turned towards what sounded like a distressed child, frowning. He followed Mary as she got up and walked into the living room and bent over a crib that was the source of the noise. She straightened, a baby in her arms.

The angel stared at Sam. It was the first time that he had seen his friend without the taint of demon blood. His soul was bright and pure, and as Castiel looked at the boy nestled safely in his mother’s arms, he felt a powerful surge of rage towards Azazel. The demon had stolen so much from the Winchesters, and did not deserve the quick death that was coming to him.

Mary cooed soothingly to her son, bouncing him gently. Once he had settled, Mary glanced up at Castiel with a smile.

“Would you like to hold him?” she offered.

Castiel blinked, surprised and warmed by Mary’s utter trust in him. He looked at Sam uncertainly. He did not really know how to handle infants, and he did not want to do something wrong. Mary chuckled at his consternation, stepping forward.

“It’ll be fine,” she told him, placing her son gently in the angel’s arms.

Castiel stared down at Sam, meeting the baby’s surprisingly serious gaze.

“Hello, Sam,” he greeted solemnly. Sam raised a tiny hand, patting the angel’s face curiously.

Mary rolled her eyes with an indulgent smile, reaching forward to tickle her son’s feet. Sam’s somber face broke into a massive grin, laughter gurgling up from his throat. The sound was contagious, and Castiel found himself smiling as well.

Curious, Castiel reached a wing over his shoulder, manifesting his feathers just enough to tickle Sam’s stomach through the soft fabric of his onesie. The baby laughed harder, and the sound sent warmth and tenderness rushing through the angel.

He looked up to see Mary watching them with a tender smile.

“He likes you,” she informed the angel as Sam began to gurgle happily.

“I am fond of him as well,” Castiel told her. Her smile widened.

“I had to move his crib downstairs so that he wouldn’t wake Dean,” Mary said, running her hand over Sam’s fine hair. “I kept going into his nursery to find Dean in the crib, just holding Sammy and singing or talking to him. It made my heart melt, but Dean wasn’t getting enough sleep.”

“I see. Dean has very strong brotherly instincts.”

“Yeah. I’m sure I’ll have to move Sammy back upstairs soon, or else Dean will pitch a fit, but I wanted him to get at least some rest, especially now that he’s in kindergarten.”

Mary stared fondly down at her son. Sam’s arms waved around, and he began to let out little shrieks.

“Did I do something wrong?” Castiel asked in concern, trying to hand the baby back to his mother.

“You’re doing fine,” Mary assured him, gently pushing Sam back into his arms. “Sammy’s just talkative. Come on. I’ll show you what helps settle him down.”

She motioned for Castiel to sit on the couch in the living room, and then she knelt in front of the television. The screen lit up, figures appearing on it.

“He likes the noise,” Mary explained as she sat down next to the angel and began playing with Sam’s feet. “The song especially. It usually puts him right to sleep.”

Sure enough, Sam’s eyes began to drift shut as music began to emit from the television. The sight was oddly fascinating to the angel.

“What film is this?” he asked. “It’s not one that I’m familiar with.”

“It’s a TV show, not a movie,” Mary explained. “And it’s called Greatest American Hero. Dean likes it, which is how we discovered its miraculous calming effects on Sammy. We record the reruns now so that they’re always available when we need them like this.”

“I see.” Castiel watched the screen more closely, wondering what it was about the show that so captivated his friends.

“You look better, Cas,” Mary said abruptly. Castiel glanced over at her in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said, watching him thoughtfully. “The other times I’ve seen you, you’ve just seemed so worried, conflicted. You seem more peaceful now.”

“Oh.” Castiel glanced at the ceiling, through which he could sense the soothing beacon of Dean’s soul. He suspected that he knew what had caused the change that Mary had noticed.

Apparently Mary did too.

“You worked things out, didn’t you?” she asked.

Castiel met her warm gaze, and he smiled shyly.

“I think so, yes,” he told her.

“And is everyone happy with the way things worked out?” she inquired pointedly.

Castiel thought about that for a moment. He knew that he was happier with Dean than he ever remembered being. And he believed that he made Dean happy as well. And the rest of the family…the angel tried to make sure that they were as content as possible. He suspected that he would never truly get along well with John Winchester, but the two of them managed to work together well enough when they were in each other’s presence. No one would accuse John of being happy, but his misery did not stem from his son’s choice of a partner.

As for Sam, Castiel knew that he was content. He knew how much college had meant to him, especially the relationship that it allowed him to form with Jessica Moore. It still bothered Castiel that Dean refused to visit his brother, but he knew that the stubborn hunter would go when he was ready, when he was willing to admit that he would not taint Sam’s life with his presence. Perhaps the wedding would be the place for that.

“Yes,” the angel said eventually. “I believe they are.”

“Good,” said Mary. “Well, don’t tell me anything else. I don’t want to spoil it for myself.”

Castiel fought to keep his face impassive as the pain tugged at his heart. He looked down at Sam, remembering the heartache that this boy and his family would be facing all too soon. He returned his gaze to Mary, and not for the first time, he thought about staying, killing Azazel before he could let so much as a drop of blood into Sam’s system, before he could pin Mary to the ceiling and burn her alive.

But he knew that he could not do it. He was still not strong enough to win a fight against Azazel. Besides, destiny had a way of carrying on in its devastating mission, despite the efforts of one solitary, half-fallen angel.

So Castiel simply breathed in the peace of the moment, hoping to preserve it. He listened to the song, hoping that it would have the same effect on him as it did on Sam.

_Believe it or not,_

_I’m walking on air._

_I never thought I could be so free._

_Flying away on a wing and a prayer._

_Who could it be?_

_Believe it or not, it’s just me._

The tune actually did help him to relax, and he and Mary spent the next twenty minutes watching the misadventures of Ralph Hinkley. Mary had already seen the episode several times, but she seemed to enjoy watching Castiel react to it. The angel was reminded of all of the times he had watched movies with Dean, and he wished that his adult partner could be here to enjoy this, to spend time with his mother.

A timer went off in the kitchen, interrupting Castiel’s thoughts. Mary stood up and gently lifted her sleeping son from the angel’s arms and put him back in his crib, before heading into the other room. Castiel followed her and was greeted by a warm, comforting smell.

“I thought I’d make a treat for Dean, since he’s upset about Sammy being downstairs,” Mary told Castiel over her shoulder as she pulled on what looked like a strange set of mittens and then opened the oven. “He loves pie.”

“I know,” Castiel said with a smile. “It’s a trait that remains with him long into adulthood.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mary said, setting the freshly baked pie on the counter. “It’s important to appreciate the simple things.”

She took off her mittens and placed them in a drawer, before turning to study Castiel, a suddenly austere look in her eye.

“I hope you appreciate my son,” she said sternly, crossing her arms. “Because even though he’s only four right now, I know that he’s gonna grow up to be one special man. And I may not be a hunter anymore, but I can still kick your ass if I need too, so I’d better not need to, understand?”

“I understand,” Castiel said with a bashful smile. “Your husband said something similar.”

“Good. I knew there was hope for that man.” Seeming reluctant to talk more about John, Mary switched topics. “What’s it like?” she asked. “Being an angel?”

Castiel paused for a moment, considering her question. He supposed that he was in a fairly good position to answer it, as he had experienced both being an angel and being remarkably close to human.

“When it’s all you know, it feels…right,” he began eventually. “It’s having a purpose, a mission, and having complete faith in that. There is no fear, no uncertainty, no pain but for what is caused by physical wounds.” He paused, caught up in memories spanning thousands of years of devoted service to a cause he’d had utter confidence in. “I miss that, sometimes.”

“What changed?” Mary asked softly.

“I met a remarkable man,” Castiel said distantly. “And he taught me to question what I had always been told, to draw my own conclusions and choose my own cause.”

“And how did he do that?” Mary inquired, her small smile suggesting that she had already deduced the man’s identity.

“A number of ways, ranging from demonstrating the best qualities of humanity to punching me in the face.”

Mary laughed, and Castiel gave her a wry smile, pulling himself back to the present. Or past, as it were.

“Ours was a tough love, at the beginning,” he told her. “But it has grown into so much more.”

“I can’t wait to watch it happen,” Mary said, and Castiel felt his stomach drop. “It’s…a little strange, knowing my son’s future boyfriend before he’s even five years old, but it’s reassuring to know that Dean will always have you looking out for him. That’s what I tell him before he goes to sleep you know. I tell him that angels are watching over him.”

Castiel did not know what to say to that. He felt so undeserving of Mary’s faith in him, and he wanted nothing more than to tell her that she had angels watching over her too. But it would be a lie.

“I will never let anything happen to Dean or Sam,” he said, and Mary seemed surprised by his sudden intensity. “I will keep them safe, no matter what it takes.”

It felt like such a poor offering, when he knew that in just a few weeks this house would be echoing with Mary’s screams and the roar of the flames that destroyed her the lives of her loved ones.

“I know you will,” Mary said reassuringly, taking Castiel’s hand and squeezing it lightly. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“The boys are fine, Mary,” he hedged, unwilling to lie to her. “They’re safe.”

“All right,” the young woman said slowly, still not seeming satisfied.

Castiel could only imagine what his face must look like. If it even came close to reflecting what he was feeling, he did not blame her for being worried.

They stood in silence for a few moments, before Castiel began to sway on his feet, still exhausted by his unusually difficult trip. Mary guided him to the same chair as before, and he sank gratefully into it. He closed his eyes when he felt a tender kiss pressed into his hair.

“It’s all right,” Mary soothed quietly, clearly understanding that Castiel was hurting, despite what he said. “Whatever it is you’re worried about, it’ll be fine.”

The angel knew that she was wrong, but he offered her a grateful smile anyway as she straightened. She returned it, and then walked over to one of the kitchen cupboards, from which she removed a small plate. Soon, Castiel was presented with a piece of fresh pie.

“It’s comfort food,” Mary said, handing the angel a fork. “It’s also a superfood, according to Dean, so it should help you get your strength back.”

Castiel had not eaten in several days, and the warm sugary desert was a balm to his taste buds. The comfort when deeper than that of course, but it also came with a share of guilt. He knew how much Dean would have given to be able to switch places with him. But Castiel knew that this was most likely the last time he and Mary would see each other, and he did not want the visit to be overshadowed by pain on his part and confusion and worry on hers. So he plastered on a mostly genuine smile and just tried to enjoy Mary’s company, while he still had the chance.

“Won’t Dean be upset that you started eating the pie without him?” he asked, nodding towards the hole that had been left by his slice.

“Not when I tell him what happened to it,” Mary said with a mischievous smile. “I’ll tell him that his guardian angel stopped by, and I gave it to him so that he wouldn’t be hungry.”

“You think he’ll believe that?” Castiel asked skeptically.

“He’s four, Cas. He still believes in Santa Claus.”

“I see.”

Actually, Castiel knew very little about the strange Christmas story that parents told to their children. The only time Dean had ever mentioned him was in his original timeline. Apparently the Winchesters had killed the pagan gods behind the legend. Castiel did not think that was something he needed to mention to Mary however.

As he stared thoughtfully at the pie on the table, he remembered something Dean had said to him once. It was when Sam had been sick, and Dean had nearly shot Castiel because he did not trust him, or even know who he was. When Castiel had told his friend that he was an angel, Dean had asked him if he liked pie. He had not understood the question at the time, but it made sense now. He smiled. He would have to tell Dean that his mother had been telling him the truth.

Mary and Castiel sat together in companionable silence for several minutes, until Sam began fussing from his crib again. Mary stood up to go comfort her son, but Castiel stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“I should go,” he said quietly.

“You can stay if you want,” Mary offered, but Castiel shook his head.

Much as he enjoyed Mary’s company, it was exceptionally painful, and he knew he belonged elsewhere. He wanted to get home and hold Dean. Besides, he would probably get to see Mary again, even if this was the last time she saw him. But in case it was final for both of them, he pulled the young woman into a hug.

“It is an honor to know you, Mary Winchester,” he said into her ear. “You are as remarkable as the people your children will grow up to be, and that is the highest compliment I can think of.”

Mary hugged him back tightly, seeming to sense the finality of the situation, even if neither of them wanted to acknowledge it. When they pulled apart, her eyes were watering, though she tried to cover it with a smile.

“Thank you, Cas,” she told the angel. “For everything. The honor is mine.”

Castiel did his best to return the smile, wanting her last memory of him to be a good one. Then, unable to avoid it any longer, he used his aching wings to propel himself back into the timestream. His lingering exhaustion made the trip more difficult than usual, but eventually he was able to work his way back to his Dean.

He found himself sitting in the passenger seat of the impala, his most common landing spot nowadays, and heard Dean pull in a relieved breath next to him. He glanced over at the man, giving him an apologetic look as he tried to shake off the lingering emotion from his visit with Mary.

“Long gap?” he asked.

“Too long,” Dean answered, his voice slightly bitter. “But then again, they always are.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” said Castiel, more serious now that he realized that Dean might be genuinely upset.

“It’s okay, Cas,” said Dean, sighing. “I’m just…you were gone for a month, and this time, stuff happened. My dad went missing, and you had been freaking out about that before you left so I knew it had to be important, but you were gone for so long and I didn’t know what to do, and I just _missed_ Sam…so I went to get him at Stanford. He helped me look for Dad, but the case turned out to be something else, and Sammy had an interview that he couldn’t miss so he’s gone again, and I still don’t know where my dad is.”

“Dean.” Castiel felt bitterly cold and utterly numb at the same time. Surely this could not be what he thought it was. He thought he had averted this. He had finally _chosen_ to avert this. “What is the exact date?”

His tone must have been alarming, because the look that Dean gave him was concerned.

“November 2, 2005,” he answered. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

“Turn around,” Castiel ordered, his hands clenching into fists and worry tearing through him. “We need to get back to Sam. He and Jess are in danger.”

Dean immediately spun the steering wheel, sending the car careening into a turn that would have taken out all the other cars on the road, had there been any. When they were facing the opposite direction, he slammed his foot on the gas and the car began hurtling back towards Stanford.

“Cas, talk to me,” said Dean urgently, eyes never leaving the road. “What’s gonna happen to Sam?”

“The demon, the one that killed your mother, it’s going to kill Jessica,” Castiel explained, his voice tight as the worry escalated dangerously toward panic. “It’s going to burn her on the ceiling, with Sam in the room.”

The impala’s engine growled as Dean coaxed more speed out of it.

“Why the hell didn’t you warn him, Cas?” he growled through clenched teeth. “Warn me?”

“I didn’t think this was going to happen anymore!” Castiel nearly shouted. “I thought that your family was safe, but your father going missing, your hunt with Sam, the interview; it’s all exactly the same. It’s why I didn’t want to leave, but everything seemed fine, and I thought I had time.”

His excuses sounded poor even to his own ears, but Dean did not bother questioning them, focusing on driving instead. The rest of the ride was filled with silence so tense it was almost palpable.

Maybe Castiel was overreacting. Maybe this was all just a coincidence, and Sam and Jessica were fine. After all, Castiel had warned Azazel about the consequences of hurting the Winchesters. Surely it had been enough to keep him away.

But try as he might, the angel could not make himself believe that.

Castiel was thrown against the door of the impala as Dean brought the car to a squealing halt at the curb in front of Sam’s apartment building. The hunter threw himself out of the vehicle and sprinted towards the building, from which Sam’s screams were audible. The sound brought all of the angel’s weak hopes to a painful end, because he knew what had to be causing them.

Castiel followed his partner as fast as he could, and was only a few steps behind Dean as he entered the building. But then an overpowering force seized the angel, and he was frozen in place. Dean glanced back for him, but as a bright glow of flame appeared in Sam’s doorway, he continued on towards his brother.

“I’m surprised at you, Castiel,” said a cold voice from behind the angel. “I’d heard that you were sentimental, but this?”

The owner of the voice stepped into Castiel’s view, a smirk on the stolen face of a young John Winchester.

“Michael,” spat Castiel, recognizing his older brother. “Release me.”

“Oh, little brother, I wish I could,” said Michael, not looking remorseful in the slightest. “But you see, you seem to have a habit of meddling with fate, and I’m afraid that can’t be tolerated anymore.”

“What did you do to the Winchesters?” growled Castiel, realizing that the archangel had just come from 1978. “After you stole their father’s body and put their mother to sleep, what did you do to Sam and Dean?”

Michael studied him, an expression almost akin to pity flickering across his face.

“You really do care about them, don’t you?” he asked softly. “My vessel particularly. But that’s why I have to destroy you, Castiel. Because Dean loves you too. I can sense it in him. And love…it is a powerful influence.”

“How would you know?” asked Castiel bitterly, watching as Dean hauled Sam out of the burning apartment. When neither man looked at the angels, he realized that Michael had made them both invisible. He heard Dean calling for him desperately, and he glowered at Michael. His brother just laughed softly.

“It is possible to observe the effects of something without experiencing it personally,” he said. “Besides, I have known love. Not romantic love, perhaps, but still. Why do you think I’m doing all of this?”

“You’re trying to justify the End of Days with _love_?” asked Castiel incredulously.

“Yes!” Michael snapped. “Love for our father, which everyone else seems to have forgotten. God ordered me to kill Lucifer, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“By killing millions of his creations.”

“Oh, don’t pretend that you care about them,” said Michael scornfully. “Only two of those lives matter to you. You’d let the whole planet burn if it saved the Winchesters.”

They were both silent, listening to the sound of Dean shouting for his angel. Castiel yearned to shout back, to give him some response so that the hunter would know he had not been abandoned. But it was useless. Michael was far too powerful.

“If it helps, I healed Sam and returned him and Dean safely to 2010,” said Michael, some of the pity back in his voice. “They’re fine. And I’m going to erase you from their minds tonight. They won’t miss you.”

“No,” Castiel whispered. Not that. Not after all that he had gone through and done with them. Not after all that he had built with Dean, everything he had chosen to become.

“I’m sorry brother.” There actually was a tinge of remorse now. Michael must have sensed the agony inside Castiel. “You should not have let yourself get so close.”

“Why did _you_ let me get this close?” asked Castiel, fury and anguish mingling in his voice. “You could have killed me in that hotel room in 1978, but you let me live, let me fall in love with your vessel. Why? For fun? Are you really that sadistic?”

“Think about what you’ve done since you started this whole trip down Winchester lane, Castiel,” Michael urged. “Think of how many times you’ve saved Sam and Dean. My vessel would not have survived infancy if you had not saved his life. All that, everything you’ve done, has always been a part of their timeline. The Dean that you met in 2008 is the same one you see now. I needed you to keep them alive long enough for Lucifer to rise. You’ve done that. Bringing Dean here to pull his brother out of the fire was the last step. And now your usefulness has ended. I can’t let you give Dean a reason to resist me. So this is goodbye, brother.”

“You can’t erase that much; you can’t change that much of their history,” Castiel insisted, grasping at anything that would prevent the horrific loss that he was facing. “I’ve been living with Dean for four years. Do you really think that you can remove every memory that I’m in?”

“Oh, not at all. I’m just erasing _you_ from the memories. There will still be some holes of course, but I’m very creative. I’ll fill in the gaps quite nicely for them. With all this trauma in their lives right now, I doubt they’ll notice anything.”

A sick, hollow feeling opened up in the pit of Castiel’s stomach as he realized how lonely Dean’s memories of these past four years would be. He would think he’d had no one.

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about their father, either,” Michael added, tapping a finger to his temple. “John here will get the same treatment as his sons. So will that ancient alcoholic they see as a father figure.”

“Angels weren’t dying in 2005,” said Castiel, still hoping for something that would avert this disaster. “Someone will notice, at the very least the version of me that belongs in this time.”

Michael shook his head scornfully.

“You really think that the you of this present is just out and about on his normal duties?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” asked Castiel, tilting his head in confusion. Michael rolled his eyes.

“Think about it, little brother,” he encouraged. “All these years you’ve been around, all the times the Winchesters have prayed to you, all the times Dean tried to summon you when you were on your field trip to 2014; do you really think that your past self could have missed all that? _Really_? We both know you’re more intelligent than that.”

Castiel blinked. Michael was right. Any version of him could not have failed to notice everything that had been going on for the last two decades. He thought about it, realizing that his memories of the years leading up to his mission to rescue Dean were incredibly hazy in his mind. He had attributed it to time simply ceasing to be significant after thousands of years of watching, but apparently there had been a more nefarious explanation.

“What did you do to me?” he asked angrily.

“Oh, not much,” Michael said with a careless shrug. “Just sent you on a little trip.”

“I don’t remember being subjected to heaven’s prison,” Castiel said. Angelic punishment was not something that could be easily forgotten, as he knew all too well.

“That’s because you weren’t. I had you sent to…a specialist.”

Castiel had no idea what that meant, but he had no time to wonder about it, because Michael chose that moment to manifest his sword. The archangel raised his blade, and the glinting metal sent a wave of despair through Castiel.

“Don’t,” he whispered, powerless to do anything else. “Please, brother. Don’t do this to them.”

That almost-pity flashed through Michael’s eyes again, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by steely conviction.

“Farewell, Castiel,” he said.

Without flinching, he drove his sword through Castiel’s chest.


	16. Chapter 16

For a moment, Castiel could only meet his brother’s empty gaze as everything else froze around them and a silence deeper than any the angel had ever known pressed down on him. Then pain detonated in his heart, tearing through the rest of his body in an explosion of unbearable agony. His grace writhed, burning from the contact with the only metal capable of damaging it, and he could feel his essence unraveling inside him.

The angel barely registered the sensation of the sword sliding out of his chest, but he did notice when Michael shoved him out of the physical plane and into the place that bordered reality without quite touching it, the timestream that had carried Castiel through so many years of history.

 _Of course_ , the part of him that was still capable of rational thought whispered. _Why kill me when he can obliterate me completely?_

But then all rational thought was gone, stolen by the pain and chaos of coming undone. He felt as if he were being pulled apart, atom by atom, the unbridled force of the universe dissolving him into nothingness. He would have screamed, but his physical form was gone, torn to shreds and blown away like green and blue confetti on a seashore. For an instant, he could see the entirety of time, and that was when he knew that it was over. It was more than he could possibly absorb or process, and no creature could survive that much.

But as the last of his grace was being rent asunder, one bright spark within him refused to go out. It was the tiny piece of Dean’s soul that Castiel had been safeguarding for years. It adhered resolutely to the grace that had enveloped it since infancy, holding what was left of the angel together and tethering him to the most important person in his universe.

Castiel clung desperately to this unexpected anchor, tucking himself around it as he tried to pull himself back together. It was like trying to turn sawdust back into a piece of wood, but Castiel refused to give up, driven on by the thought of the men who needed him. But as the current of the universe raged around him and grated agonizingly against the raw edges of his very self, it got harder and harder to remember what he was fighting for, why he was resisting the peace of nonexistence.

The name echoed through him, and Castiel knew it was important. He held tighter to the warmth and light at his core and started dragging himself along the tether that it was attached to. He no longer knew what he was hauling himself towards, but he knew that he could not stop.

It felt like a hundred thousand lifetimes that he was trapped in the turbulent chaos on the brink of life and reality itself, but finally, with one last tug on the line that was guiding him, he pulled himself back into the world in which he belonged, which instantly felt like home, though he was not sure what home was.

He pulled in a breath, hardly able to process the fact that he could, that he had a physical form and was alive and back in reality with his feet planted on solid ground. His vessel felt like it was made of water and his mind was full of the fog of the timestream, but he was _alive_. Lost and confused and exhausted beyond belief, but alive.

He heard someone say what he was fairly certain was his name, and the voice was worried and familiar. The voice meant safety, and Castiel felt the last of his control slipping from him. He collapsed, but a set of strong hands held him upright and that comforting voice spoke to him again, though the words held no meaning to him. He heard another voice call out the abbreviated version of his name, and that voice meant something different altogether.

A second pair of hands joined the first, and the first voice spoke to him again.

“We got you,” he promised, and Castiel believed him.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean said, and for a moment, Castiel worried that Dean was angry with him, but he realized that he was hearing relief, not rage. “You made it.”

_You made it._

Did he? Castiel still felt wrong, incomplete and empty and lost. He stared down bemusedly at his hands, part of him surprised that they were still there, that he was whole in body, at least.

“I…I did?” he said hazily.

He looked up, meeting a pair of concerned green eyes.

So he had made it. He was alive, and so was Dean, and whatever else was wrong, he could deal with it.

“I’m very surprised,” he stated honestly.

There was someone else, someone important, someone Castiel had seen being brutally murdered but whose voice he thought he had heard speaking to him through the haze. He turned his head wearily to look at the face that went with the other set of hands.

He was safe too, whole and healthy. Castiel felt a small smile tug at his mouth, the relief at seeing his boys alive and unpossessed taking precedence over the nagging dread that something was wrong, wrong, wrong. Then the roaring blackness that had been pulling at him took over, and he sank into unconsciousness.

It was not the peaceful, relaxing unconsciousness of sleep. Castiel still had the timestream storming through his head, and fragments of images and moments flashed through his mind, almost too quickly to absorb. They were all from his time with the Winchesters, from his conversation with a pregnant Mary to his first meeting with Dean outside of an elementary school to letting go of him after a confrontation with Azazel. Each memory drove a fresh shard of pain through Castiel’s battered heart as he remembered what Michael had done and realized the magnitude of what he had lost, what Michael had stolen from him. Eventually the images slowed, fading away with the memory of his last worried moments in the impala with Dean, and he was left drifting.

He ached to the very core of his being, the physical trauma of his ordeal mingling with the emotional agony of his loss to form an unbearable anguish. But he did bear it, because he had to, because Sam and Dean still needed him. They were alive, and that meant that he still had a chance to fix what he had let fall apart. Michael had not expected him to survive, but he had underestimated the strength of his connection to Dean. Castiel was confident that he could repair that connection. For a few beautiful moments, hope surged through him.

 _You’re right, Castiel,_ a chilling voice interrupted his dreams. _I didn’t expect you to survive._

Horror gripped Castiel as a figure appeared before him, and he recognized it as Michael in his true form, unfettered by a vessel. It had been a long time since Castiel had glimpsed an archangel in its true form, and even though it was only in his head, the sight filled him with a terrible awe.

 _So will you finish the job?_ he challenged with a bravado that he was not feeling.

 _I don’t think that will be necessary, as long as we establish a few simple rules,_ Michael told him, and confusion swept through Castiel. Sensing it, his brother explained, _now that they have you back, losing you would send them on a quest for revenge that would not do anyone any good. Their memories are still gone, so you’ve become harmless. There’s no reason for me to kill you now._

 _You think I’m harmless?_ Castiel growled furiously. _I will show you just how_ harmless _I can be, if it’s the last thing I do._

 _No, you won’t,_ Michael said, calm in the face of his brother’s rage. _Because you still have something to lose. I will let you live, let you stay with the Winchesters, but it will be on my terms. You will not make any attempt to give them their memories back, and you will not let Dean fall in love with you again._

 _Why would I agree to that?_ Castiel demanded. _I know that you won’t kill them if I disobey, and since you’re inside my head, you must know that I do not fear death at the moment._

_You’re right; I won’t kill them, not yet. But Dean will agree to be my vessel eventually, and when that happens, I can either make the experience quick and painless for him, or I can make it a living, endless hell. The choice is yours._

Castiel knew that his brother was not bluffing. He would have no qualms about torturing Dean once he had become a vessel.

 _And Sam?_ he asked.

 _I’m going to kill Sam,_ Michael said, and his tone was the gentlest it had been for the duration of the conversation, though that was still not very gentle. _I have to. But I will make it a quick death, for him and Lucifer. I will grant them both peace._

_You know that I will still try to stop you, even if the Winchesters remain oblivious._

_I know. I also know that you will most likely die trying, but no matter what you do, you will be unsuccessful._ The utter certainty in his voice was almost worse than the words themselves.

Castiel would have closed his eyes, had they not already been closed. As it was, he had no way of escaping the burning intensity of Michael’s presence. The archangel was in every corner of his mind, stripping away his privacy and baring his carefully cultivated heart. Castiel wanted to rage against the injustice, to fight this cruelty and control with everything that he had, but he knew that it would do no good. His only options were to be there for his family in the limited capacity that Michael allowed, or to abandon them to the mercy of archangels who could not have cared less about them. It was not a hard decision, just impossible to accept.

 _Damn you, Michael,_ he told his brother in agonized defeat.

 _I know this seems harsh and unfair to you,_ Michael said, hearing Castiel’s answer in the curse. _But when the very planet is at stake, sacrifices must be made. I am sorry that you had to get hurt so deeply by all of this, but like I told you, you should never have let yourself get too close._

Before Castiel could retort, the archangel was gone, and his head was his own once more. He was still battered and exhausted however, and he knew that waking up would not be an option any time soon. So he let himself fall deeper into his mind, trying to escape the agony that his reality had become as his body attempted to recover. It was still far from peaceful.

ooooooooooooo

Castiel woke in stages, awareness coming back to him before control of his body did. Thinking about what had happened was painful, so Castiel focused on the physical instead. He could feel himself lying on a bed, his body on top of the covers. Brightness against his eyelids told him that it was daytime, or that the lights were on in whatever room he was in, and the sounds of a keyboard clicking told him that he was not alone.

The angel let out a groan and forced his eyes open, blinking against the light that assaulted them. The computer sounds stopped abruptly, and then Sam’s concerned face appeared in his field of vision.

“Hey, Cas,” he said in a gentle tone infused with relief. “How’re you feeling? You’ve been out for a while.”

“I feel…” Castiel trailed off, at an utter loss as to how to answer that question. He decided that ignoring it would be best for both of them.

Instead, he tried to sit up. He almost didn’t make it, but Sam’s hands supported him, and eventually he was perched on the edge of the bed, blinking around at the hotel room in which they were staying.

“Where’s Dean?” he asked, sensing that the older hunter was not in the room.

“He went to get breakfast,” Sam told him. “You were out for a long time, and he was starting to go a little stir crazy.”

Castiel glanced at the bed beside the one that he was sitting on and saw that only one side was disturbed. He looked more closely at Sam, noticing the red eyes surrounded by dark shadows that betrayed a lack of sleep.

“How long is ‘a long time’?” Castiel asked suspiciously, drawing a tired sigh from his friend.

“Three days,” Sam admitted, scrubbing a hand over his face with a muffled yawn. “We took turns staying with you, and that meant sleeping in shifts. You were in pretty bad shape, and we wanted to make sure that one of us was there if you needed anything.”

“I’m fine, Sam,” Castiel lied quietly, staring down at his hands. “I’m sorry that you lost sleep because of me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas,” Sam said lightly, sitting down beside the angel and providing a comforting weight against his shoulder. “We’ve functioned on less.”

Castiel knew that they had, but he still felt guilty about taking one more thing from them. He cast about for a different topic of conversation, and his eyes fell on the laptop that Sam had abandoned on the small table in the corner of the room.

“Researching your next case?” he asked.

Sam followed his gaze to the computer and grinned ruefully.

“Researching angels, actually,” he said. “More specifically, how to heal them after they almost kill themselves by time traveling. Turns out there’s not much helpful information on the subject available online.”

Castiel grimaced and stared at his hands again.

“My condition is nothing to worry about,” he said. “I just had a…difficult time getting back. It was a very long journey.”

“I guess so,” Sam said, casting the angel a sympathetic glance. “I mean, I’d never even seen you sleep before, so 72 solid hours of unconsciousness seemed pretty significant.”

“I just needed rest,” Castiel said quietly, touched by Sam’s concern even though it exacerbated to ache in his heart.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Sam said, clapping his friend on the knee. “And we never said it, but thanks. I know we asked a lot of you, but you came through. We couldn’t have saved our parents without you.”

Castiel did not know what to say to that, but he was spared from coming up with something by the opening of the door. Dean appeared carrying a paper bag and a tray of coffee, his face cracking into a tired smile when he saw Castiel awake.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted, and Castiel flinched. The last time Dean had called him that had been in 2014, a devastated version of the future that was looking more and more likely. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Castiel just stared at Dean. Though the angel had seen him at this age before, he was still shocked by how old and worn he looked. It was the loss of the connection between them that struck him the most though. Michael must have stolen the fragment of grace inside of Dean when he took his memories, and the piece of Dean’s soul that Castiel had been safeguarding had been used up in the struggle to stay alive, fusing indistinguishably with what was left of the angel’s grace. Castiel felt hollow and empty without it, and Dean looked the same way. He missed the reassurance of their bond, the constant comfort of being connected to Dean.

Something about his silence or expression must have concerned Dean, because the hunter sent his brother a questioning glance.

“He just woke up,” Sam explained. “He seems a little out of it.”

Dean nodded and set the breakfast down on the table beside Sam’s laptop, before bending down in front of Castiel and looking at him searchingly.

“Hey, you with us buddy?” he asked, his light tone barely masking the concern in his voice.

Castiel did not want Dean to worry, so even though his former partner’s proximity was wreaking havoc on his heart, he did his best to pull himself together. He nodded.

“I…I’m with you,” he promised.

“Good.”

Dean squeezed his shoulder briefly and moved back to the table, where Sam joined him. The boys started their breakfast while Castiel remained sitting on the bed, watching them with unfocused eyes. He could do this. He could go back to what they had been before their trip to 1978. He had to.

But when Dean glanced at him between bites of his breakfast burrito and offered him a casual smile, he knew that it was going to be exceptionally difficult.

ooooooooooooo

Two hours later, the boys were getting restless, and Castiel could tell that they were eager to move on.

“You good, Cas?” Dean asked, and the angel nodded. Physically, he was recovering just fine. “Great. Then I guess you can get back to your search, and we’ll call if something comes up.”

“What?” Castiel asked, blinking in confusion. Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“Isn’t that your thing now?” the hunter asked. “Looking for God?”

“Oh, right,” Castiel said, though it had been years since he had concerned himself with finding his father.

He supposed that it was still his best avenue of investigation now that everything had been virtually reset, but it meant separating from the Winchesters. He opened his mouth to ask if he could stay and hunt with them, but then Michael’s warning echoed in his head. He could not build a new relationship with Dean.

“I’ll just, uh, stay until you’re ready to leave,” he said, unwilling to part from his friends just yet.

Dean looked at him curiously, but then just shrugged and went to pack his duffel. The glance that Sam gave the angel was more worried, as though he could tell that something was wrong, but Castiel did his best to smile, and Sam did not question him.

Ten minutes later, Sam was checking them out of the motel while Dean finished packing up their toiletries. Castiel studied his friend, questions bubbling up within him. Most of them he could not ask and some of them he did not want answered, but there was one that had been nagging at him for years.

“Dean?” he began hesitantly as the hunter did his best to wipe the slime from his tube of toothpaste before stowing it in his bag.

“Yeah?”

“That future that Zachariah sent you to…” he saw Dean’s hands still in their actions, his shoulders tensing up.

“Yeah?” he repeated, but his tone was more cautious this time.

“What happened to you and…and me?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Castiel suddenly realized that he did not want the answer to this question either. But he was going to get it anyway, because this Dean was about as sensitive to his feelings as that Dean had been.

“They died,” he said shortly. “Lucifer snapped Dean’s neck after he sent you into a hotzone to get torn apart by croats and demons. My final act, sending my friends to their deaths as a diversion, and achieving absolutely nothing. Sounds about right, huh?”

Castiel could not even respond to that. He had no idea how.

“Oh,” was all he said.

Dean resumed his packing, and they were both silent until Sam returned. They all walked out to the impala together, but then Castiel ran out of excuses to stay with them.

“Well, I guess we’ll see you around, Cas,” Dean said awkwardly, not used to goodbyes with the angel. “Call us if you need anything.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, suddenly reminded of something important. “I, uh, don’t have my cell phone anymore. I…lost it.”

‘Lost’ was not the best term to describe what had happened to the first phone that the Winchesters had given him, but he did not go into the details. He had another phone now, but no one had paid the service bill for it since 2005, so he doubted that it was still operational.

“You lost it?” Dean repeated, sounding surprised. “I didn’t even think you could lose things.”

Hearing the worry in his friend’s voice and guessing what it was for, Castiel raised a hand to the pocket of his trench coat that housed Dean’s amulet. He had kept the necklace safe throughout all of his travels.

“I don’t lose the important things,” he said, meeting Dean’s gaze steadily.

But that was not quite true, was it?

Sam cleared his throat and held out a phone to the angel.

“Here, take my spare,” he offered. “It has our numbers in it.”

Castiel took the cell and slid it into his pocket. He looked up, his gaze flickering between the two Winchesters, who were watching him curiously. He wished that he could pull them both into a hug, but that was not the kind of relationship he had with them now. So he settled for something close to a smile.

“Goodbye,” he told them.

Unable to think of anything else to say, he took off. He had no set destination in mind, so he flew aimlessly, getting used to being back in the present. He felt stronger, still cut off from heaven but no longer out of his proper time. But what use was his increased strength if he could still do nothing to help the Winchesters?

 _Stop wallowing_ , he told himself sternly. The Winchesters were fine. They did not know what they had lost, so they were suffering from none of the pain that Castiel was experiencing. Just because the angel could not go back to the way things were with Dean, did not mean that he could not help the boys, could not still act as their guardian angel. He would do what he had been doing before he fell in love; trying to save the world. And that meant looking for God.

So the angel returned to his search, picking up where he had left off, which was pretty much nowhere. He scoured the earth, amulet in hand as he waited for the metal to heat up in his palm. No matter where he looked however, his efforts were fruitless, and his discouragement grew with each passing day.

ooooooooooooo

A week after he had gotten back, he found himself standing outside of a high school, taking a break from his frustrating search as he waited for a crowd of students to be unleashed. He tried not to let it remind him of the last time he had done this, when he had caught his first and only glimpse of Adam Milligan, the boy he had failed to save. He was waiting for a girl this time, and he knew that she was still alive and that he would do whatever it took to keep her that way.

Eventually a bell rang from within the depths of the grim school building, and a few minutes later, he caught sight of the girl he was looking for. Her blond hair was hanging in a curtain around her face, partially obscuring her features, but Castiel would have recognized her anywhere. That was just how it was with angels and their former vessels.

Claire Novak lifted her head, staring around curiously as the crowd of students thinned. Perhaps she sensed his presence, but he had hidden himself from sight, knowing that the sight of him would only disturb her.

Castiel was not sure why he had come here, why it had suddenly become so important to him to see Claire and make sure that she was safe. He had gone to visit the Novaks in the past, for reasons he had not quite understood then either, but he had never stayed long. And now he was here, spying on the girl whose father he had stolen, and he did not know why.

Perhaps it was because she represented another promise that Castiel had made, one that he had not yet managed to break. He had sworn all those years ago, back when all of this mess was just starting and Castiel had still been firm in his beliefs and purpose, that he would keep Claire and Amelia Novak safe. And despite everything that had happened, there Claire was, safe and sound and living a relatively normal life. A promise kept.

As he watched Claire, suddenly her blue-green eyes met his, and he felt frozen in place. She should not have been able to see him, but she seemed to focus on him anyway. She took a step forward, but then the beeping of a car horn distracted them both. Amelia had pulled up to the curb and was waiting to pick up her daughter. Claire sent one last look in Castiel’s direction before walking away from him and climbing into her mother’s car.

Castiel watched the two of them drive off, and a ripple of shame washed through him. He had stolen Jimmy from them, and for what? Back when he had taken his vessel, he had been certain that the man’s sacrifice would be worth it, would accomplish something. Now Jimmy was dead, and Castiel had nothing to show for it.

Before the angel could drift any closer to the dangerous territory of moping, his phone rang. Castiel felt his heart lurch, knowing that there were only two people it could be, and that either one would hurt. He flipped the phone open, eyes squeezing shut as he heard Dean’s voice for the first time in a week. And just like that, he was back in, flying to the Winchesters’ location before Dean could even finish getting the words out.

It seemed cruel, really, that the first case they needed his help with was one involving cupid. Had he not known the Michael had absolutely no sense of humor, he might have suspected that it was a sick joke. But Michael was not one for jokes, and the more they learned about the case, the less humorous it became.

Castiel had only encountered cherubs a few times in his life, and never when he had been in any position to be affected by them. But when he was forced to delve into the mind of the cupid he captured, the experience was extremely unsettling. He could see what the cherub saw, and the cherub saw _everything_. Castiel could feel his brother’s pity as the cupid assessed the situation, reading the love in Castiel’s heart and the hole in Dean’s. The pity made it worse, made it real, and Castiel broke the connection as soon as he could once he realized that the lesser angel was innocent, grateful that the cupid made no mention of his brother’s newly unrequited love.

Fortunately, the encounter with the cupid was brief. Unfortunately, that was because the real culprit was far worse. Though Castiel knew that the Winchesters had encountered a horseman of the apocalypse before, he had never even been close to one, when he realized that they were dealing with Famine, he was filled with dread. But that was not the only thing with which he was filled.

He thanked anyone who might be listening that Famine had touched Jimmy’s hunger and not his own. He did not think that he could have handled having his own yearning intensified. Instead, he just had to deal with the overwhelming urge to consume as many hamburgers as he could get his hands on. Dean mocked him for it, but it was better than the alternative.

Sam was not so fortunate. Castiel ached to see his friend suffering as his craving for demon blood increased. He hated having to cuff him like a criminal while he and Dean went after the horseman, but he knew that there was no alternative. Castiel did not even realize what else leaving Sam behind would mean, until he was climbing into the impala with Dean to drive to the local morgue.

The action was so natural, so familiar, and yet it meant something completely different now. It meant that Castiel was alone with the man he loved for the first time since said man had forgotten about him, and the angel was at an utter loss for what to do or say.

His silence did not seem to bother Dean, who was still preoccupied by his worry for Sam. Castiel let the quiet linger, staring out the window and trying to pretend that his encounter with Michael had never happened, that Dean still loved him and there was no apocalypse and this was just another ordinary hunt for them. That hurt worse though, and Castiel cast about desperately for something to distract him.

“Dean?” he asked tentatively, breaking the hush.

“What?” the hunter grunted distractedly.

“This may seem like an odd question, but…” Castiel trailed off, suddenly unsure how Dean would feel about the inquiry, or if he even wanted to know the answer to it.

“Spit it out, Cas,” Dean invited, more focused on the angel now that he could tell it was something serious. “What is it?”

“Have you ever been in love?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and Castiel tensed, watching Dean closely for his reaction.

Dean had tensed as well, and he looked blindsided by the question. He stared at the road for a moment, his knuckles white on the steering wheel before he spoke.

“Why would you ask me that?” he inquired slowly, his voice unreadable.

“We are…friends, yes?” Castiel said quietly, trying to keep the storm in his heart out of his voice. “I suppose I’m just curious. With this particular case, it seemed relevant.”

Dean made no comment, and was silent for so long that Castiel grew certain that he was not going to answer. But then the hunter let out a heavy breath that was not quite a sigh.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe.”

Castiel stared at him silently, knowing that it was the best way to get Dean to continue. He felt a surge of irritation as his hand automatically lifted what felt like the millionth cheeseburger to his mouth, but he did not break his concentration as his vessel satisfied the need that Famine had awoken in him.

“I thought so, once,” Dean continued eventually when they were stopped at a red light. “I was 21, and Dad and I were working a case in Ohio while Sam stayed in the last town we had hit so that he could finish his senior year. I met this girl, Cassie…” he paused, looking thoughtful and distant.

Castiel remained utterly motionless, still trying not to betray any of the emotions whirling through him. It was at times like this that he missed the cold and uncaring state in which he had lived the first few millennia of his life. He knew that Michael had twisted Dean’s memories, added to them so that there would be no gaping holes where Castiel should have been, but what if the archangel had not added that memory? It had happened when Dean thought that Castiel was dead, and he could have let himself fall in love with someone else.

The idea hurt more than Castiel had anticipated. He thought that he had been coming to terms with what had happened, but the breathtaking wave of pain that came with Dean’s revelation proved otherwise.

 _Why did you ask, you fool?_ he chastised himself. This was not the kind of distraction he needed.

But Dean had gotten started now, and apparently he had more to say.

“She was the first person I stayed with for more than a few nights,” he said as the light turned green and the car rumbled into motion again. “She was also the first person I told the big family secret to. I got dumped for my trouble, but still…It hurt when I lost her, and when I was with her…I don’t know. I guess it was love, but…it always felt like something was missing. Like I knew love could’ve been more than that, but I didn’t know how. And when I saw her again a few years later, I gave up the chance to stay with her. I did the same with Lisa, the only other woman who could even be considered for the love interest category. So what does that tell you?”

Dean glanced at Castiel as he finished his speech, and though his tone had been ironic, the angel could see the genuine question in his eyes. It must have been disorienting for him, to miss his memories without knowing that he had lost them.

“It tells me that you have led a very lonely life,” Castiel said, his voice almost a whisper as he stared through the windshield at the dark surrounding them, unable to meet Dean’s gaze any longer. “And I’m sorry for that. You deserved better.”

There was a beat of heavy silence, but then Dean shrugged, and Castiel could practically feel him shaking off the serious conversation.

“Yeah well, that’s the life,” he said carelessly. “I could’ve settled down, but I chose not to. And now we’ve got a job to do.”

They pulled into the parking lot of the morgue, and Dean returned his focus to the case. Castiel tried to do the same, but their conversation kept running through his head, hurting a bit worse each time.

Dean needed his help though, so he pulled himself together and did his part to track down Famine. They found his latest victim, the coroner, and decided that the best plan would be to stake out the morgue and watch for a demon coming to collect the doctor’s soul.

Castiel kept a curious eye on Dean as they waited, and when the angel returned to the impala after taking another break to retrieve more hamburgers, he finally asked what he hoped would be a more harmless question.

“Where is you hunger, Dean?” he inquired after enduring more criticism about his new eating habits.

“Huh?”

“Well, slowly but surely, everyone in this town is falling prey to Famine,” Castiel elaborated, feeling a small pang of shame for his gluttony but still unable to resist the food. “But so far, you seem unaffected.”

“Hey, when I want to drink, I drink,” Dean said casually, but Castiel knew him well enough to be concerned by the undercurrent in his tone. “When I want sex, I go get it. Same goes for a sandwich or a fight.”

Castiel did his best not to flinch at the sex comment.

“So...you're saying you're just well-adjusted?” he asked, somewhat skeptically.

“God, no,” Dean snorted. “I'm just well-fed.”

Castiel probably would have continued his inquiry, curious about Dean’s mental state, but he caught sight of a demon walking quickly out of the morgue, and knew that it was time to go back to work. They followed the demon back to a diner, and Castiel could feel the cloudiness in his mind growing. Still, he did not want to let Dean down, so when it came time to execute his part of the plan, which was to retrieve Famine’s ring, he did not hesitate.

Until he walked through the door.

He had completely underestimated the horseman’s power. Control over his vessel was wrenched from him, overpowered by the insatiable hunger that opened up within him. He found himself crouching on the ground beside a pan of ground meat, shoving handfuls of it down his throat.

Lost as he was in the haze of hunger, part of him was still aware enough to hear when Dean entered the room, or rather when he was dragged into it by demons. Castiel felt a brief flash of concern, but it was nowhere near powerful enough to counteract Famine’s influence. He continued to devour the meat, leaving Dean on his own for his confrontation with the horseman.

Famine’s words filtered slowly through the fog of hunger in his mind, and while not all of them made it to his consciousness, the ones that did left him aching.

 _That’s one deep dark nothing you’ve got there, Dean,_ Famine crooned.

Castiel knew that he was partially responsible for that nothing. The conversation seemed to drag on, until it was interrupted by Sam storming into the diner. Castiel could not turn around to see his friends, but he did catch Dean’s horrified mutter of “Sammy, no!” He could guess what had happed, but he could not make himself feel anything about it yet, because everything was hunger. He heard shouts and screams and agonized cries, and then with dizzying abruptness, Castiel’s hunger vanished and his mind cleared. He nearly wretched at the sight of the meat in front of him, but there were more important matters at hand.

He wiped a hand across his mouth and looked up slowly, reluctantly. His fears were confirmed the moment he saw Sam’s face. The hunter’s chin was streaked with telltale red, and there was a line of his own blood trailing from his nose. He had defeated Famine, but at far too high a cost.

No one spoke as Castiel got to his feet. Dean sent the angel a brief glance, but his focus quickly returned to his brother. Sam was the first to break the stillness, walking forward to retrieve the ring from Famine’s limp finger. He handed it to Dean without meeting his eyes, and then surveyed the carnage around them. The diner was littered with the bodies of Famine’s other victims, as well as the demons that Sam had exorcised and Famine himself.

“We should get out of here,” he said shortly.

Dean nodded, but remained frozen in place, still staring silently. Sam sighed, finally looking at his brother.

“Panic room,” he said, his voice laced with dread and resignation. “I need to get it out of my system, and it won’t be pretty. Unless…” Sam shot Castiel a hopeful glance, and the angel felt close to throwing up.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing what Sam was asking for and that it was not in his power to give. “I’m not capable of cleansing your system.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said tightly. “I’ll just do it the old fashioned way. Right?”

That last part was directed at his older brother. Dean grimaced, but he nodded again and this time he moved, heading for the doorway. Castiel followed the Winchesters to the impala. Neither of them questioned the angel, even though they no longer needed his help on the case. He suspected they both needed him as a friend.

The three of them made the drive to Sioux Falls in complete silence, after a quick call to let Bobby know that they were coming. Dean’s eyes never strayed from the road, and Sam’s remained fixed on his window. Castiel could see the tension building in Sam as the hours went by and his withdrawal began to set in. He was facing his first true, voluntary detox, and they all knew how unpleasant it was going to be for him.

Sam was trembling lightly by the time they reached Bobby’s house, but he did not try to deviate from their plan. Sam knew the cost of his addiction, and he wanted to be free of it as soon as possible. Bobby greeted the weary trio solemnly before leading Sam into the panic room that he had already prepared. Dean and Castiel followed them to the basement, but neither of them could watch as the older man cuffed Sam to the cot before locking the door of the panic room. Bobby squeezed Dean’s shoulder and nodded at Castiel before retreating upstairs, his steps heavy.

Silence reigned, but Castiel knew that it could not last. He had been present for some of Sam’s previous detoxification, and had heard his agonized screams. He knew that they would be more difficult to listen to this time. Equally difficult was watching Dean, who had grabbed a bottle of whisky on their way down. Misery was etched into every line of his face, and Castiel desperately wished that there was something he could do to alleviate it.

“It’s not Sam’s fault,” he tried, knowing how much of a rift between the brothers the demon blood had caused in the past.

“I know,” Dean whispered. “And I know how hard he fought it. Hell, if Famine was able to bring you down, Sammy didn’t stand a chance. But I hate what that stuff does to him, and I hate what it represents. And I hate that I couldn’t protect him from it. Again.”

Castiel sighed, shame at his own weakness sweeping through him.

“I’m equally responsible for it,” he said. “I failed you both back there.”

“Not your fault, Cas,” Dean told him dully, taking a swig from the whiskey bottle. “We’re dealing with crap way beyond our pay grade, and we’re doing what we can.”

“But I should be able to do more,” Castiel insisted, the frustration that had been roiling inside him finally spewing forth. “I should be able to make a difference.”

“You do make a difference. We wouldn’t have been able to solve this case without you.”

“Yes, I was very helpful when I was crouched on the floor like a dog and inhaling raw meat while you and Sam were on your own to fight the harbinger of the apocalypse,” the angel retorted acidly.

Dean grimaced and might have said something else, but then Sam let out his first scream, and they both winced. Castiel stared at the ground as he listened to the sound of his friend’s torment. He had been right about this time being worse, but he would not leave Sam or Dean in this state. He’d had quite enough of abandoning them.

Forty minutes into Sam’s detox, Dean’s whisky bottle was half empty and Castiel was wondering how much more of this any of them could take.

“Let me out of here, please!” Sam shouted, the desperation in his voice practically tangible. His bouts of screaming came and went, but he was currently in the middle of a pretty severe one. “Help!”

“That's not him in there,” Castiel said weakly, feeling the need to say something, even though he knew his words would be useless. “Not really.”

“I know,” Dean said shortly, but Castiel did not believe him.

“Dean, Sam just has to get it out of his system,” he pressed. “Then he'll be-”

“Listen,” Dean interrupted, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I just, uh...I just need to get some air.”

Castiel said nothing, letting him go without further protest, though he longed to pull his friend into his arms. He watched as Dean’s feet disappeared up the stairs. His eyes burned, and he knew that he would have been crying if he were human. And he felt more human every day. He yearned to follow Dean, but knew that he would not be able to bring comfort to the weary hunter. And he was not sure that he could bear the sight of Dean in that much pain, knowing that it was partially his fault.

Something in his chest loosened as he heard Sam’s screams taper off into silence. He could still sense the black taint of demon blood in his system, so he knew that his friend’s suffering was not over, but he seemed to be in a lull.

“Dean?” Sam called weakly.

Castiel sighed. He pulled open the door to the panic room, stepping inside with some trepidation. He flinched when he saw how bad Sam looked. The young man’s face was pale and sweaty, shadows like bruises ringing his eyes. Castiel remembered the cheerful baby that he had held in his arms what felt like a lifetime ago. How much misery Sam had endured since then, how much he had changed.

“Your brother went outside, Sam,” Castiel said softly when he had found his voice. “Is there anything you require?”

“Cas,” Sam whispered, his eyes filling with tears. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Oh, Sam,” Castiel lamented, sitting on the edge of Sam’s cot and smoothing his damp hair away from his face. “You need not be ashamed. It is I who has failed you, not the other way around.”

Sam just shook his head violently, tears spilling out of the eyes that he had clamped shut. He seemed to be lost in his fevered, poisoned brain, and Castiel was having trouble reaching him.

“ _Believe it or not, I’m walking on air_ ,” he sang, hoping that the music that had calmed him when he was an infant would have a similar effect now. “ _I never thought I would feel so free. Flying away on a wing and a prayer_ …”

Each word felt like poison in his mouth, but he continued to sing and stroke Sam’s hair, and eventually the young man’s shuddering eased. His eyes remained shut, but his breathing was less labored. Castiel felt the pressure in his chest building again. His voice choked off and he stood, suddenly unable to stay in the same room with Sam, the man he had failed so spectacularly. He walked out and closed the door on his friend, leaning his forehead against the cool metal.

“I’m sorry for your pain, brother.”

Castiel whirled, instantly on alert and ready for a fight. He blinked in surprise when he saw the cupid from before, staring at him with those soulful eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel demanded.

“Well, I was going to ignore it, but once I got a hint of the agony inside you, I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” the other angel told him.

He seemed a thousand times more serious than he had been before, and Castiel wondered what had caused the change. Whatever it was, he wished that it had also been accompanied by the desire to wear clothes, because the cupid was still naked. Castiel focused firmly on his face, glad that he had not tried to hug him again.

“Your grace has been crying out to me all day,” the cupid continued.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, still guarded. This cherub had not seemed like a threat earlier, but now that it had followed him to the Winchesters’ sanctuary, he was not so sure.

“I’m in the business of love, brother,” the cupid said. “And while I’m not exactly used to seeing quite this brand of it in angels, the love in you is unmistakable.”

Castiel grimaced and looked away, eyes finding the stairs that Dean had vanished up a few minutes earlier.

“What of it?” he asked, not bothering to deny it.

“I want to help you.”

“No,” Castiel said immediately. “You can’t fix this. You can’t make Dean remember. Michael will-”

“That’s none of my business,” the cupid interrupted. “I’m making it a point not to get involved in this whole apocalypse thing. But I said I could help _you_ , not Dean.”

“I don’t need help,” Castiel told the other angel.

“Look at yourself, brother. I can see your grace. Your love and loss has poisoned it, and your pain is killing you.”

Castiel met the angel’s earnest gaze. He sighed. He had always considered cherubs to be frivolous and vapid, but that was before he experienced love himself. It was a terrifying force, and cupids wielded it with ease.

“What of it?” he asked again.

“I can ease that pain,” the cupid said. “I can put you back together.”

“How?”

“I can make you forget.”

“Forget?” Castiel repeated dubiously.

“All of it. I can make you forget everything that Michael took from Dean. I can make you forget falling in love, and the pain of losing it.”

“No,” Castiel said firmly. He did not want to lose any more of Dean.

“Think about it,” the cupid urged. “You could go back to the way you were, undistracted by your emotions. You would no longer feel like you were always about to fall into the pit that Michael ripped open in your chest. You could stop seeing a thousand unattainable memories whenever you look at Dean. You would be back on his level, remembering everything that he remembers, and nothing more.”

Castiel said nothing, his traitorous mind actually considering the possibility. He hated this weakness, the constant pain and unfulfillable yearning. He was a shadow of what he had been, and he had nothing to show for it. His distraction could get the Winchesters killed.

“Why would you do this for me?” he found himself asking. The cupid smiled.

“Well, aside from giving me a clean conscience, it would mean that you two would get another chance,” he said cheerfully.

“Excuse me?” Castiel asked.

“What? I think you guys make an adorable couple. If I do this, you and Dean will have the chance to fall in love all over again. But in the right order this time, without the archangels getting involved. I just want to give you two another shot at a happy ending. I do love those. They make my job worthwhile.”

“And what makes you think that any of this will go better the second time around?”

“Well, you know you guys fit together. Your story fell victim to circumstance, but next time the circumstances will be different. Once this whole apocalypse thing blows over, there’ll be nothing to stop you from getting that happily-ever-after I mentioned. So what do you say?”

Castiel thought about it. He really did. He thought about how nice it would feel to be free of the constant heartache, the misery of watching Dean suffer and being unable to help him, the inescapable guilt of knowing how severely he had failed every single one of the Winchesters. It would be so liberating, so peaceful.

But then he remembered. He remembered why he had fallen in love with Dean in the first place, remembered the way Dean used to look at him like he was the hero of his story. He remembered watching the boys grow up, remembered feeling himself becoming more human, and not thinking that it was a bad thing. He remembered feeling himself falling for the astonishing human that safeguarded a piece of his soul. He remembered that beach in Delaware, and the wonder of that first kiss. He remembered the quiet contentment of watching Dean drive, his focus on the road but one arm slung casually around Castiel’s shoulders, shooting the angel a warm smile every few miles. He remembered watching Sam light up with joy as Castiel helped him look for a ring for Jessica. He remembered a hundred lazy mornings spent curled up together before rising to spend the day fighting evil side by side. He did not want to lose all of that. He could not.

“No,” he told the cupid firmly. “I appreciate your offer, but I will keep my memories as they are.”

“Are you sure?” the cherub asked with a frown. “I could help you. I could give you your heart back.”

“I’m sure,” Castiel said. “As the human poet Tennyson once said, ‘it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ I’ve already lost parts of Sam and Dean. I won’t lose more of them.”

He turned away, making for the door of the panic room, and the friend inside.

“Well, that’s a shame,” came the cupid’s voice from behind Castiel. “I had so hoped to give you the choice. But they warned me that you would make the wrong one.”

Castiel frowned, perturbed by the cherub’s strange words. He turned back to face the other angel, recoiling in surprise when he saw how close together they were. Instinct made him reach for his sword, but the cupid was faster, grabbing Castiel’s arm with one hand and placing the other on his forehead.

Castiel had been wrong to underestimate this angel. Cherubs were not a violent class of seraphs, but apparently they were powerful, or this one had extra help. Castiel found himself unable to move.

“I am sorry about this, brother,” the cupid said earnestly. “But unlike you, I still take my orders from heaven. This is for the best. Be grateful that Michael is showing you mercy.”

“You expect me to be grateful for this?” Castiel growled, fear and fury tangling within him. “You’re taking everything from me.”

“Not at all!” the cupid insisted emphatically. “Everything I said before was true. This can be a good thing for you. You’ll get another chance with Dean.”

“Please…brother,” Castiel choked out, the fear and desperation taking over as he realized just how much more he was really about to have stolen from him. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me lose them again.”

“When this is over, you won’t even know what you lost,” the cupid promised, smiling as though he thought he was doing the angel a favor.

“No,” Castiel whispered as he felt the cherub’s power seeping into him, lulling him into a false sense of peace. “Please. No.”

But it was useless. He could feel the memories being erased, and with them the best part of himself. Darkness clouded through him, pulling him inescapably downward despite his struggles against it.

ooooooooooooo

Castiel’s eyes jerked open and he looked wildly around the basement of Bobby Singer’s house. There was no sign of any adversaries, no sign of anyone at all. So why did he feel like something was terribly wrong?

He pulled in a deep breath, walking to the door of the panic room to check on Sam. The young man was still securely in place. He appeared to be lost in his own head, still caught in the haze of the demon blood.

Castiel could sense Dean in the scrapyard overhead, hear his desperate prayers to a God that Castiel still could not find.

The angel knew that his presence was no longer required here. He had helped the Winchesters deal with that irritating cupid, and then with the horseman. There was nothing left for him here.

He did not bother stopping to say goodbye to Dean before he took wing, resuming the probably pointless search for his absent father.

He felt a strange, tugging sense of loss as he flew away. He paused, hovering invisibly over Bobby Singer’s scrapyard. He stared at Dean’s dark figure, trying to understand the strange draw he felt towards the hunter. He stayed in place for a long moment, hand flying to his face as he felt something roll down his cheek. He stared at the drop of moisture on his finger.

Rain. It had to be rain.

Castiel shook himself, dismissing the inexplicable feelings, and took off through the cloudless sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is. I'm sorry if anyone is disappointed by this ending, but it was the only one that felt right to me. On the bright side, this can now become your headcanon. I will most likely write a sequel for this when the time feels right, but it may not be for a while. In the meantime though, I have plans for a fic called Moments in Time, which will be a collection of "missing scenes" from this story. They will be oneshots from Castiel's time with the Winchesters in the past, and I will take requests. I will post the first chapter of that at the same time as a short epilogue to this story. Thank you so much to everyone who has commented/left kudos on this fic! Your support has been awesome.  
> I would love to hear your thoughts!


	17. Epilogue

Dean Winchester stared down at the soaking wet and stained coat in his hands, doing his best to hold back tears. He would not cry for Cas. He could not, because if he started, he would never stop.

He had lost a lot of people in his lifetime, more than anyone should ever have to. But there was something about that damned angel, with his endearing awkwardness and astonishing courage and beautiful eyes and reckless stupidity and inexplicable draw that left Dean feeling impossibly empty with loss.

His hands clenched, tightening around the wet fabric that he had pulled out of the reservoir after watching helplessly as his best friend dissolved into black goo, releasing god only knew what into the local water supply.

_Why did you have to be so stupid, Cas?_ Dean wondered, wiping angrily at the moisture that had started to leak from the corners of his traitorous eyes. _Why didn’t you just_ listen _to me?_

_I feel regret,_ the angel had said, just a few minutes before his death. He wasn’t the only one.

Dean could have helped Cas, could have saved him. He would have done whatever it took.

He gazed down at the tan material of Castiel’s trench coat, lost in the memories of his friend. They had been through a lot of crap together, but there had been spots of brightness too. Dean smiled slightly when he remembered seeing this coat hanging off of Castiel’s shoulders, a look of utter confusion on his face while a hooker called Chastity screamed abuse at him. Dean remembered how hard he had laughed as he and the angel ran from the bouncers.

His smile faded as reality set back in. There would be no more moments of adorable awkwardness, no more trying not to laugh as his friend floundered in any kind of social situation. There would be no more silent conversations held only through loaded gazes, no more small smiles that made Dean’s heart turn over.

The hunter closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, working harder than ever to keep himself together. His arms tightened around the trench coat he was holding, ignoring the dampness that seeped into his own clothes. He pulled in a deep breath and was frustrated with himself for being disappointed that Cas’s scent did not linger in the fabric.

Dean held his breath, his body utterly still as he wrestled all of his emotions about Cas into a box at the back of his mind, tucked away and harmless. It was a skill that he had mastered over the years, but it was not working very well this time. Still, when Dean finally took another breath, his overpowering grief had faded into a dull ache that he suspected would linger for a very long time.

Sighing heavily, Dean opened his eyes and squared his shoulders. Cas was gone, but he had left a whole slew of problems in his wake, and now it was time to deal with them. As his gaze fell on Sam, who was standing with Bobby a discreet distance away as they waited for Dean to get his emotions under control, he felt a surge of anger for what the angel had done. Sam’s wall was broken, and there was no telling how much damage that would do.

Dean thought that he could have forgiven Cas for that, for all of it, but he didn’t. He held onto the anger because it was better than grief, better than the devastating emptiness. Of course, he still felt those too. Dean sighed again and shook his head before striding over to join his family.

ooooooooooooo

As much as he hated seeing his brother’s mind crumble, a small part of Dean was bizarrely grateful for Sam’s mental breakdown. It gave him something to worry about that he still had a chance of fixing. Dean poured all of his energy into taking care of his brother, so that he had nothing left with which to mourn Cas. And when Sam’s issues were still not enough, he turned to the impressive supply of liquor in Bobby’s house.

He could tell that his family was concerned about him, especially Bobby. The old man rarely said much, but he had a knack for observing, and he knew that both of his boys were in bad shape, despite how much Dean tried to pretend that Sam was the only one who was messed up. But as Dean told Bobby, he kept his marbles in a lead box, and he could not afford to open that box. Only one Winchester could fall apart at a time, and Sam currently had the corner on that market.

Despite everything that he was going through, Sam still managed to worry about Dean too. He always had been the sensitive one, and apparently even hallucinating the devil could not get in the way of that. Every once in a while, he would bring up Cas, but Dean shut him down so quickly and completely each time that he stopped mentioning the angel. Still, Dean frequently felt his brother’s gaze studying him, saying nothing but seeing way too much.

When an entire high school swim team got eaten by leviathans, Sam and Bobby practically threw Dean out of the house to investigate, despite his reluctance. As much as he trusted Bobby to look out for Sam, Dean still hated the idea of being too far away to help if something else went wrong. He knew how many hits he could take, and he had reached his limit. Still, he knew how important it was to handle the leviathan issue, so he started packing his duffel for a trip to Kansas.

As he got his bag packed and ready, he somehow found himself holding the trench coat that he had stashed in one of Bobby’s closets. He had not bothered to wash it after scooping it from the reservoir, so it was still stained and smelled faintly of blood and water tainted with the foul muck of the leviathans. Dean had not even looked at the damn thing since…everything, but his heart revolted at the idea of leaving it behind. So he did his best not to look at it as he carried it out of Bobby’s house to the impala. He opened the trunk and then just stood there, thinking while trying not to think, which only resulted in a headache.

There was no reason for him to put the coat in the trunk, to bring it with him. It would be safe at Bobby’s house, and there Dean would not have to see it every day. But maybe he needed to see it every day. Maybe every time he went to get a weapon, he should be reminded of the friend who had pushed his limits too far, who had cared too much without knowing how to care. Maybe he needed the reminder that his flawed, frustrating, beautiful, irreplaceable angel had not been just a dream.

Decision made, Dean set the coat beside his duffel bag in the familiar trunk, smoothing the fabric into place. He frowned when he heard a strange crackling sound. He pressed down on the coat again, and the sound repeated. It almost sounded like…paper crumpling. Cas must have had something in his pocket.

Curious, Dean unfolded the coat and began fishing through the inner pockets. His eyes widened as his fingers met a familiar object. He pulled out the FBI badge, staring at the picture of Castiel inside.

“I can’t believe you kept this,” Dean muttered, grinning as he remembered the day he gave it to the angel.

The day he had taught him how to lie.

Dean shook his head. Maybe one day he would be able to remember what Cas had done without feeling like he had been sucker-punched, but today was not that day.

The badge was not what he had heard crinkling earlier, so he tucked it back into its pocket and resumed his search. It did not take him long to find the slip of what felt like laminated paper, tucked deep inside one of the larger pockets. He pulled it out, realizing that it was an old Polaroid photo, spotted with age and water damage, but still intact. Dean raised an eyebrow, wondering what Cas could possibly have a picture of.

_Halloween, 1988,_ was scrawled on the back. Maybe it was one of Jimmy Novak’s photos.

He flipped it over, freezing as he recognized the faces in the blotchy photo. No, this was definitely not Novak’s picture. Someone else might have mistaken the man in the photo for the mild-mannered radio ad-time salesman, but Dean knew better. The curious light in those borrowed blue eyes, accompanied with the slightly tilted head and deadpan expression were instantly recognizable. So was the boy standing with his arm around the angel, wearing a trench coat of his own and smiling like all was right with the world.

Dean’s brain sputtered to a stop, then jolted into overdrive, racing to understand how he was looking at a picture of his nine-year-old self standing next to a man that he should not even have met for another twenty years. He stared at the photo, blinking rapidly as if that would change what he was seeing. It didn’t.

Dean did not realize that he was shaking until the image before him started to blur with the speed of his tremors. He forced himself to pull in a deep breath, his grip steadying and bringing the figures back into better focus. Dean could not tear his eyes away from Castiel’s face, that steady gaze holding him captive even through a photograph.

_“You’re supposed to smile in pictures, Cas.”_ The words flashed through Dean’s brain as if blown in on a breeze, bringing with them the barest spark of a memory.

_“Oh. Why?”_

_“I don’t know. It’s just what you do. I guess so that it’s a happy memory when you look at it later.”_

_“I don’t need a picture of myself smiling for this to be a happy memory, Dean.”_

_“Me neither.”_

Dean gasped and his fingers snapped open, sending the photo fluttering down into the trunk of the impala. It landed facedown on the trench coat from whence it came, and Dean was grateful. He was not sure that he could handle looking at it for another moment.

The hunter closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, not even knowing where to begin trying to process all of this. Where had the picture come from, and why did Dean have a fragment of a memory to go with it? He was fairly certain that he would not have forgotten meeting someone like Cas as a kid.

Dean was not sure how long he just stood there like an idiot, waiting for more of the memory to trickle back, for any of this to start making some kind of sense. When he realized that he was wasting valuable time with nothing to show for it, he shook himself out of the daze that he had fallen into. He did his best to stuff the memory and the questions that it had raised into the Castiel box in his mind, knowing that this was not something he could handle right now.

He scooped up the picture, holding it carefully by the corners even though there was not much more damage that he could possibly do to it. He slid into the familiar driver’s seat and started the car, feeling a small measure of comfort from the soothing rumble of the engine. He glanced at the picture one more time, before reaching over to deposit it safely in the glove compartment, a mystery to be confronted another day.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I want to thank you all for being so wonderful to me throughout this story. I know that many of you were heartbroken by the ending, so I wanted to offer an explanation, as well as some hope. I love season five, and the beautiful story arc that Kripke gave us, and I knew that I could not do a better job than that. I wanted my story to tie into the incredible canon that already existed, while also developing the relationship that I see so much potential for. Dean and Cas have never had it easy, and I wanted this story to reflect that. But despite all of the crap that gets thrown their way and all of the challenges that they face, they always manage to find each other again, and trust me when I say that the sequel will reflect that aspect of their relationship. I do not care for season seven the way I do for season five, so the sequel will not be limited by canon. In the meantime, the first chapter of Moments in Time is up, so you have something to tide you over.
> 
> UPDATE (5/30/16): I realized that I really left this hanging, and since people keep reading this story, I figured that I should say something here, rather than just in the comments. Unfortunately, I have to say that I will most likely never write that sequel I had planned. This is because I stopped watching Supernatural almost two years ago, and have completely lost any and all inspiration to write fic for it. I'm really sorry about that, because this story does deserve the sequel that gives it the ending it was always supposed to have, but I'm not going to force myself to write something that I have no inspiration for. Thank you for your understanding. You guys have all been awesome.


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